


All That We Are

by left_and_write



Series: All That We Are [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Agatha Wellbelove Finds Out, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Watford (Simon Snow), carry on, rainbow rowell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 25,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_and_write/pseuds/left_and_write
Summary: Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch; the self-proclaimed super villain that almost ate up all magic and the world's friendliest, least-bloodthirsty vampire. Together they make a bit of an odd couple, but there is no doubt that they are desperately, incurably in love with one another. How will they react to the stress and mayhem of Agatha Wellbelove-- a girl who doesn't even know they're friends, let alone in love-- coming back to England for a visit?{Can also be found on my Wattpad account, @hi-its-lefty}





	1. If You Must Wait

**_Simon_ **

When Baz and I get home from a perfect winter day's worth of ice skating, shopping, and (most importantly) drinking cocoa and snuggling at his flat, we find Penelope in a right snit about something.

I mean, Penny's usually in a snit of varying intensity about something or other, but this feels... different. More brooding and worried than normal. She's got this extra-bright shine to her typically serene brown eyes that looks something like fear. And Penny is _never_ afraid. No, this is a look that usually means...

"Who died?" I ask, pausing in the action of untangling my knotted scarf from around my neck. I didn't mean for the words to come out, but the pit of my stomach feels like it's visiting our downstairs neighbour. Beside me, Baz fails to conceal a wince at my blunt words before leaning close to me to help with my damned scarf.

Penny's eyes flash to mine, one dark brow raising over the rim of her glasses. A loose curl of lilac-coloured hair flounces into her face, coming free from her ponytail.

"No one _died_ , Simon," she huffs, some of her usual exasperation at everything returning. I study her, staying still, barely registering the fact that Baz has finished with my scarf and is tugging on the buttons of my jacket. If no one died, then what's going on? Her mum might be giving her trouble again-- she did for an entire year after I defeated the Humdrum (and nearly died in the process). But it's been _another_ year since she's stopped bugging Penny about it. What else could it be...?

"Bunce, you look more morose than usual. What's going on?" Baz asks, giving up on my buttons with a light swat at my arm. Without really thinking, I catch his fingers before he has a chance to pull them away entirely, wrapping his ice-cold hand in mine. Penny bites her lip, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt (it's her favorite; it says "ringmaster of the shitshow" on it)(Baz got it for her last Christmas and got us matching ones that say "shitshow" on them).

"Well... I just got off the phone with Agatha," she says slowly, rubbing her neck. Baz and I exchange a surprised look. "And, well... long story short, she whinged about Baz for an hour, then she whinged about Simon for another thirty minutes, and then... she sort of... invited herself over?"

" _What_?"The incredulous word drops from my mouth like a brick at the same time that Baz splutters, " _When_?".

Penny looks miserable. She tears her fingers through her purple hair, her brow creased and her mouth all pouty (an expression she usually chastises me for).

" _Don't_ explode at me, either of you! It just sort of... happened! She's coming to England a week from tomorrow to visit her mum, and she didn't think her mum would let her stay at her house, so she sort of... prodded me into letting her stay here?"

My jaw hangs open, my eyes big and staring at Penelope. Baz has a similar expression on his face, those pearly grey eyes boring into Penny. Since when does _anyone_ prod Penny into doing _anything_?

"She's coming _here_? Next _week_?" I stammer. Penny nods gravely, then plants her hands on her hips, resolve sharpening in her face.

"I don't understand why you two are getting so worked up about it! She _was_ our friend, and we haven't seen her in _two years_ , boys." Baz pushes the fingers of his free hand through his silky black hair.

"Bunce, _a lot_ of things were different two years ago!" He argues. Penny just throws up her hands and turns on her heel.

"It'll be fine! And if it isn't, then you two can bunker down at Baz's flat, and _I_ can deal with her! We'll just have to wait and see, okay?" She looks at the two of us, silently begging us to suck it up and just roll with it. There's pity behind the look, and more than a little guilt.

"Penny's right..." I soften my voice, though not believing the words, "We'll just have to wait and see." Baz huffs a sigh through his nose.

"I suppose."

 


	2. If You Must Laugh

**_Baz_ **

The playful atmosphere of the day dissipates entirely in the wake of the conversation about Agatha, leaving us all subdued and quiet. Snow's nervous-- I can feel it in the pressure of his hand around mine; can see it in the quick glances he throws my way. It worries me.

And maybe I'm a little worried, too. Wellbelove didn't exactly part with us on good terms; she freaked out on us at Christmas and then ran away from The Mage carrying someone else's Spaniel. Not exactly what I would call "companionable".

What's more, she _dated_ Simon and had a crush on me, so that's sure to make things awkward.

_What was Bunce_ thinking _?_

I try my best not to think about it through dinner, but the threat of her coming to visit looms above us like a dark cloud. Simon's bothered about it to the point that I hesitate to go out hunting. He notices my reluctance and kisses my cheek, his lips so wonderfully warm against my chronically cold skin.

"Baz. I'll be fine-- I'll stay here and make sure Penny doesn't start your show without you," he assures me. Reluctantly, I don my snow gear, promising to be quick. Luckily I'm not overly hungry, so I should be able to make good on that. Snow just fusses over me, adding on another scarf to my already thick layers (I'm a bloody _vampire_ , Snow, the cold doesn't bother me!)(...and just like that I'm halfway to being Elsa)(Damn it all).

It's out here, alone in the snow-dampened darkness of the city that I allow the thoughts of Agatha and memories of Watford to return. How angry Snow used to make me, simply because he was perfect and I had a schoolboy crush. How angry _he_ got when I pretended to flirt with Wellbelove. How, in retrospect, that jealousy wasn't necessarily directed at her...

I don't know how to feel about this whole situation. And I guess I won't know entirely until I see how Wellbelove reacts...

Maybe that's the part I'm worried about. That she might flirt with me, or worse, with Simon. That she might react badly when she finds out. That she might hate us.

I shake my head angrily, trying to clear it.

" _Eat_ , Basil!" I order to myself, trying to focus. _Focus._

Wiping my mind blank, I make my way to the edge of a wooded park to hunt.

\---------------------------

Bunce and Snow are lazing about the sitting room when I get back; that dark, Wellbelove-shaped cloud hanging ominously above them. Bunce's eyes are glazed over, deep in thought. Snow is curled up in his usual corner of the couch, his eyes half-closed, short lashes mostly blocking out the blue. On silent feet, I sneak up behind him, resting my hands on his neck. He jumps a meter into air with a short, surprised yelp, whipping his head around to face me.

I'm bent double laughing, the stretch in my cheeks feeling impossibly good after such an emotionally trying evening.

Si swats at my arm, fighting down laughter of his own.

"Baz, you _knob_! Your hands are _freezing_!" he whinges, mirth sparkling in those blue eyes. Behind him, Penny's covering her mouth to hide her giggles.

"That's the _point,_ you twit!" I tease in reply, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss him. A smile tugs at his lips against mine, tasting like cinnamon and apples and everything that's good in the world.

Bunce clears her throat.

"You two are disgusting," she informs us matter-of-factly. I can _hear_ her rolling her eyes. So I just grin and flip her the bird.

"One would think," I drawl, sidling over the back of the couch and plopping onto the cushions next to Snow, "that after two years, you would be used to it, Bunce. Have you started watching our show without me?"

Bunce sighs, flipping me the bird in return.

"No, _some_ of us have respect for our friends." She tosses me the remote; I catch it without even looking, turning on the television and flipping to Netflix.

"Well, glad to see chivalry isn't _completely_ dead," I reply, finding our show and pressing play. Bunce sticks her tongue out at me.

We sit in silence for the remainder of the episode, letting the "mind-numbing-telly-waves" (as professor Bunce likes to call it) wash over us, lulling the mood a bit. Snow snuggles into my side, his head resting on my shoulder. I silently relish in the tickle of those ridiculous curls against my chin. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I hold him close, my fingers slipping just beneath the hem of his shirt and resting on his warm skin. The gesture makes his cheeks blush the palest shade of pink; it's adorable.

About halfway through the programme, Snow falls asleep. His breathing going all soft and slow, his face completely relaxing until he looks practically angelic. Which is cliché, but entirely true. With his golden skin and bronze curls and those soft, perfect eyelids, I wouldn't be surprised to find him with a harp.

_My Simon, the Angel._

The programme ends, casting the room into warm darkness. Bunce checks her watch, then glances questioningly back up at me.

"Nicks and Slick, Basil, what did you _do_ to him today? It's only ten!" She asks, sounding mildly alarmed. I grin deviantly at her, raising one brow.

"Do you really want to know what I _did to him_ , Bunce?" I tease, even though Simon and I didn't actually _do_ anything like what I'm implying (well, not today). Bunce's face goes red, an interesting contrast with her lilac hair (she's spelled it a different colour every New Years since First Year; last year it was sky blue).

"I ought to spell you quiet one of these days, Baz," she threatens. I grin, knowing she doesn't mean it (she hardly does, anymore).

"I ought to do the same to you, Bunce," I throw back. An obstinate smile tugs at her lips.

"Tosser."

I wink at her.

"Press play, Bunce. Snow won't mind-- he doesn't even _like_ this actor, remember?" This earns a laugh from Bunce (mission accomplished, in my book).

" _Fine_ ," she agrees, brandishing her large ring at the remote, spelling it to press the correct button. " ** _Play on!_** "

It may be a waste of Magic, but it's ridiculously entertaining to watch the little round button press down of its own accord with a small, satisfactory _pop_.

The theme song plays; the people in medical Scrubs rush about, all too impossibly pretty and wide-awake to be actual doctors and nurses. We lose ourselves in the lovely alternate reality, forgetting all about Agatha for a while.

\---------------------------

Hours later, Snow wakes me up when he sits bolt upright in bed next to me, breathing hard. I force open my eyes, glaring daggers at him. His face is still slackened by sleep, his eyes at half-mast. Those curls stick out in all directions. The clock on the nightstand behind him reads 3:14 AM.

"Baz," he slurs, sounding _absolutely_ plastered, "darling, I'm pregnant!"

I groan, latching my hand onto his shoulder and pulling him back down onto the mattress. He's sleep talking. _Again_. This is the fifth time this week.

"It's 3 AM, you're a boy, and we're gay, you twat, now go the _fuck_ to _sleep_ ," I grumble, shutting my eyes tightly, keeping my hand on his shoulder in case he decides to grace me with another important announcement.

He just mumbles something unintelligible about bears and cosmetics before relaxing again and falling back to sleep.

"No more medical shows for you," I mutter, repositioning myself so I'm resting my head on his chest.

What was I saying earlier about my angelic Simon?

 


	3. If You Must Call

**_Penelope_ **

I miss Agatha. Sue me for saying so, but I do.

She was my only female friend at Watford, and as much as I love Simon and Baz, it was nice to have someone I could just... _be a girl_ with. I don't mean shopping and things. I just mean... doing things like we did two Christamases ago; decorating gingerbread and ignoring the world. It was fun.

After our television programme ends, I call Micah, making sure my bedroom door is securely shut. He picks up after the first ring.

"Hello?"

Crowley it's good to hear his voice. I picture his face-- looking naked and perfect without his glasses on-- moving with the two syllables. The way his eyes light up when he says my name. I feel myself relax a bit.

"Hey," I breathe, sinking onto my bed.

"Everything okay, Pen?" He asks-- I can hear the smile in his voice, hidden by the concern. I let out a sigh, wishing he could be here or I could be _there_. I miss him.

"Not really..." I reply quietly, fiddling with my hair. I hear him close a door, then hear the familiar, faint creak of his mattress.

"Tell me everything."

So I do. I tell him about Agatha's phone call. About the looks on Simon and Baz's faces when I told them she was coming. About how pissed they are. About how pissed _I_ am. By the time I'm finished I regret phoning him-- since when am I a "venter"?

"Penny... it'll work itself out. They'll see. You'll see. Everything will be fine. Besides, she's not staying for very long, so she can't inflict too much damage on the off-chance it _does_ go badly, right?"

I can't help but smile a little.

"You're right."

 


	4. If You Must Wake

**_Simon_ **

When I wake up the next morning I've got a _horrible_ backache. My wings and tail finally faded away last New Year's, but I get bad muscle cramps where my wings once attached. None of us really know why, exactly. But then again, none of us know why the fuck we couldn't get rid of them in the first place.

I must let out a grunt of pain, because Baz opens his eyes. His pearly grey gaze, softened by sleep, settles on me, then flicks to my back. I feel my face go bright red up to the roots of my knotted hair.

"C'mere," he whispers, raising a hand and brushing it down my chest. Goosebumps prickle up my arms, and I melt into the touch. Laying down on my side, my face close to his, I reach up to brush his sleep-tousled dark hair out of his eyes. A small smile tugs at one corner of his lips at the gesture, and I can't help myself; tilting my chin forward, I press my lips to his, my fingers loosely holding his chin. He puts his hands on my stomach, and even though they're colder than ice, heat radiates from the places where his skin pushes against mine. Those familiar lips kiss me back softly, slowly; like he's trying to make it last. And I _want_ it to last. I want to stay in this moment-- kissing Baz in the blue-grey light of a winter morning, protected from the chilled air by a pile of warm blankets-- forever.

Baz pulls away slowly, just far enough so that he can speak.

"Is your back hurting you again?" He murmurs, tracing his cold fingers along my chest and stomach. Nodding, I close my eyes, savouring the feeling of his fingertips against my skin.

"Yeah," I breathe, grimacing a little as another spike of pain shoots through the muscles in my back. Baz presses a kiss against my collarbone.

"Turn onto your other side." I do, wincing a little, my eyes now focusing on the photo-covered wall in front of me. Photos of me and Baz; photos of he and I and Penny; photos of just him; photos of just me. It's my favourite wall in the flat. 'The wall of memories', Baz calls it.

I stare at my favourite photographs on the wall. There's a candid one I took of Baz; he's perched on the counter, his legs tucked up to his chest, a cup of tea clutched in his hands, watching the rain outside the window. One Penny took of us, curled up on the couch together, fast asleep (we'd been out Christmas shopping all day and passed out as soon as we sat down). So many smiles; so many memories.

Baz's fingers massage my back, pulling me from my reverie. They knead at the knots, slowly pulling them apart; taking away the pain. I close my eyes, letting out a breath I didn't I was holding. The boy behind me presses a quick kiss against my shoulder, continuing to work at the knots in my back. His fingers move over a particularly sore spot and I tense up, scrunching up my nose. He doesn't hesitate; just works a little more gently until the spot feels better.

I let him work at my back in silence until he's finished, which only takes him a few minutes. Once he's done I flip back over so I'm facing him again.

"Thank you," I tell him gratefully. He smiles at me, kissing the tip of my nose.

"You're welcome," he replies, eyes sparkling. I grin at him.

"Where would I be without you?"

"Well, for starters, you'd probably be dead, not to mention hopelessly straight..." he drawls sarcastically. Laughing, I flick his arm. He beams and flicks me back. Giggling, I lean into him, tangling my fingers in his hair and bringing my lips to his.

"I love you," I murmur against his warm mouth. Smiling like a fiend, Baz wraps his arms around me, fingers brushing just beneath my pyjama bottoms, skating along my hips. Sending shivers up my spine.

"I love you too," he replies, kissing me back.

We stay like this for a long, long time; wrapped up in each other like the lovesick schoolboys we are.

It's bloody perfect.

 


	5. If You Must Breathe

**_Simon_ **

We spend the next week cleaning relentlessly, room-by-room. Baz and I conquer the disaster area that is my room; Penny takes on the rampant disorganization in the kitchen; we straighten up the sitting room; Penelope fine-tunes her bedroom. On and on, until we're finally done. With only one night to spare.

Agatha is arriving early tomorrow morning after flying through tonight. Pen is driving to the airport to pick her up at 4:30 in the morning (why the _hell_ Agatha picked a one-layover 13 hour flight at 3:30 in the afternoon is _beyond_ me)(bloody Americans), which should give Baz and I a bit of extra time to mentally prepare ourselves for her arrival.

Penny keeps whinging about picking her up that early. ( _"Should I try and get some sleep, or stay up all night? Honestly, boys, Baz is an insomniac, so if_ he _were picking her up, it would be just fine")._ Which is true, but honestly, Penny and I aren't much better; we both get horrible nightmares that keep us awake most the night. And lately I've been talking in my sleep. Incessantly. Which is a weird new development in the Ridiculous Life of Simon Snow, and a partial reason for _Baz's_ insomnia. So really, it would make sense for any one of us to fetch Agatha (so _there_ , Penny).

Anyway, now that we're finished straightening up the flat, I don't know what to do with myself. I haven't left the sitting room today. Just pacing back and forth, back and forth. Back at Watford I would've taken the Sword of Mages out to the Wavering Wood and swung it around (probably pissing off more than a few dryads). Here, all of my nervous energy has nowhere to _go_. So I just pace, running my fingers through my unkempt hair.

I think I might be having a panic attack, too. Everything is blurry and too loud; grating on my senses like sandpaper. And my chest feels like someone's sitting on it-- like that one time I wouldn't give Baz his book back (I was _reading_ it! It's not my fault he left it sitting open on the couch...) and he tackled me and sat on my chest until I gave it back (my boyfriend the _actual_ five year old). Breathing doesn't work so well when some barmy tosser is sitting on your chest-- or when you have a panic attack. Even my heartbeat feels wrong-- too fast and frantic against my sternum.

I have to get out of here, or I'm going to fucking explode. This feels like Going Off, but _worse_ , because there's no magic to discharge and release the tension.

With a groan, I break my monotonous pacing and stumble from the room, looking for Baz.

"Baz!" I holler out, ducking my head into every room I pass. Penny's in her room, phoning someone (probably Micah). I pop in, knocking my hip painfully against the doorframe as I go.

"Penny, have you seen Baz? I'm going out and I might take him along." The words are a fast stream, almost impossible to differentiate from one another.

"Shh, _Simon_. Baz is in the basement, putting in the wash," she says, rolling her eyes at me. I smile at her, and her face softens (it always does).

"Thanks, Pen." She waves me away, gripping her mobile a little tighter against her ear.

"Yes, Micah, I'm still here... No, it was just Si," As I'm leaving, she glances back up at me, calling out, "Micah says hi!"

"Tell him I said hey!" I tell her, not looking back.

Quicker than anything, my feet skid along the slick floor of our flat, carrying me haphazardly towards the door. I throw on some shoes, fling open the door, and careen out into the chilly hallway.

I practically fly down the stairs, taking them two at a time. And then I'm finally ( _finally_ ) at the basement door. Before I can open it, it swings towards me, and Baz steps out, empty wash basket in hand.

"Baz," I say, more relieved than anything. Now that I'm not running, I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs again. _Not good_.

Baz looks up, hair falling lazily into his pearl grey eyes with the movement.

"Simon? What's the matter? Why do you look like you just lost a marathon?" He demands, brow furrowing. I want to kiss him right between the eyebrows, right where that little crevice forms.

"You have to take me _out of here_ , Baz. I'm losing my mind," I plead, looking up at him. One eyebrow quirks up, dark and perfect.

I try to focus on the lazy swoop of slightly wavy black hair across his pale forehead. Try to ignore the way it hurts to breathe. Ever so slightly, my heart rate begins to settle.

"What's going on, Simon?" He repeats, voice softer this time-- tinged with fear around the edges. I shake my head.

"I think I'm having a panic attack and I don't know what to do with myself and I feel all _wrong_ and I just have to _go_ ," I blurt out, tearing my fingers through my hair. Crowley, I must look like a complete madman.

"Okay. We'll go up and grab your coat, and I'll put this thing away," Baz replies, without hesitation. I let out a huff of relief. Tipping forward, I place a short kiss on his neck.

"Thank you."

With the smallest of smiles, Baz wraps his arm around my waist. We walk slowly back up to the flat. I count the steps, telling myself to breathe. Willing my heart to calm down. For the sharp edges of the world to soften. Baz's thumb rubs slow, soothing circles on my side.

_Just breathe, Simon_.

By the time we're back at the flat, I feel almost fine.

 


	6. If You Must Love

**_Baz_ **

Snow watches me as I remove my boots, blue eyes like miniature quasars, reflecting the light of the lamp next to him. He at least _looks_ better than he did before the drive here-- the colour has returned to his skin, and his pupils are back to a normal size.

I toss my boots into the entryway (we're sitting in the sitting room; me on the floor, Simon in his favourite chair)(which also happens to be _my_ favourite chair)(dammit, Snow, stop stealing my furniture). Without bothering to stand up, I maneuver my way towards him on my knees. Resting my head on his knee, I look up at him, trying to judge his mood.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, fingers playing with a frayed portion of the hem of his jeans. His hands curl in my hair, stroking it back and away from my face. It feels impossibly _good_.

"Better. Less... twitchy," he replies with one of his signature shrugs. I don't quite believe him. It's like his eyes are looking _at_ me, but... _through_ me. Like I'm completely transparent and he's staring at something behind me. Reaching up, I catch his hands in mine, intertwining our fingers.

"How can I help?" I kiss each knuckle, my lips barely brushing the skin. His eyes focus on me, finally. A good sign.

Now he just looks thoughtful (it's impossible _not_ to think, Simon Snow, no matter what you may claim). Which is another good sign. At least now his brain is doing something productive, rather than just running on a wild tangent about everything that could possibly go wrong tomorrow.

"Kiss me," he replies simply. It's not a command, but it's not a question, either.

I lift myself onto the arm of the chair, so I have to bend a little to reach his face. Softly, slowly, I press my lips to his eyelids. Then his chilled, rosy cheeks. His nose. Then finally his lips. Simon's hands snake around my waist, tugging me off the arm of the chair and into his lap. My knees, cold in my too-thin black skinny jeans, rest on either side of his hips, pinning him down.

For just a moment, I pull away, letting our foreheads touch. Sharing warmth. (Even vampires get cold).

"I love you, Simon Snow," I whisper, lips brushing against his with every word. His eyes close, eyelashes tickling my cheeks. His grip on my waist tightens.

"I love you too, Basilton Grimm-Pitch," He murmurs back, matching my tone. Then he tilts his face forward, connecting our lips once more. His chin moves to the rhythm of a song I can't hear, those red lips pushing against my mouth; every movement a challenge, every breath a surrender. Cold fingers dip just beneath the fabric of my sweater, pressing into my skin in a way that makes my breath catch. My hands are in his hair, twisting the curls around my fingers and pulling him closer, _closer_.

All I can think is his name. Like a spell, spinning languidly over and over in my mind.

_Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon...._

Simon's hands caress my stomach, sending shivers up my spine. In retaliation, I let my lips drift down from his lips. Down his jaw, to the soft skin of his ear, travelling slowly down his neck, meandering along his collarbone, dipping just below the collar of his sweatshirt (Simon's the type of boy who doesn't wear a shirt underneath, and I love it).

It feels like casting fire-- easy, natural, reflexive. But burning, too. Intense. _Hot._ It feels like the best, most powerful spell. Kissing Simon Snow.

"Have I told you..." I murmur against his collarbone, working my way to the centre, "That kissing you feels like kissing a star?" Simon's neck arches, his fingers flattening against my stomach.

"Have I told you that kissing you is like being kissed _by_ a star?" He fires back. I can hear the smile in his voice. Lifting my head, I kiss the corners of his lips, tasting the smile.

"Flirt," I tease, grinning. Snow laughs, tugging me closer.

"Please, you set yourself up for that one." Those lips catch mine again before I can answer, hungrily taking every other thought from my head. His hands wander up and down my back; my hands tug at his collar.

"Snow," I breathe, not separating our mouths for any longer than necessary.

"Hmm?" He asks, kissing my chin. Before I reply, I attack the mole on his neck (it's my favourite).

"You..." He kisses just below my jaw, making me trail off. "... should stop being so selfish..." I tip my head back to grant him better access to my neck. "... and just lose your damn shirt already." A sound rumbles from his chest-- I'm not entirely sure if it was a growl or a laugh. I wouldn't be surprised by either.

"Okay, but only because you asked so nicely..." Snow jests. (Yes!) Pulling away, he tugs his sweatshirt up over his head, dropping it in a pile on the floor.

"Happy now?" He asks teasingly. I stare down at the golden expanse of skin, speckled with moles. The broad, leanly muscled shoulders. The smooth surface of his stomach. The thin scar just above his hip I gave him in a fight our third year. The sharp, angular hip bones (Crowley and Merlin and Morgana I love Snow's hip bones).

"Very," I reply, smirking. Simon beams at me, pulling me closer and closer until there _is_ no more closer. Kissing me with everything he's got. I do my best to return the favour.

I'm thinking about losing my sweater, too, and I think Snow's got the same idea. His fingers draw patterns on my skin underneath the soft knitting.

"Your turn," He murmurs, darting forward to kiss my partially exposed collarbone.

"Only because you asked so nicely," I tease, copying his reply. Giggling, Snow musses up my hair.

My sweater joins his sweatshirt on the floor.

I'm beginning to think maybe clothes were meant to live amongst the floorboards.

 


	7. If You Must Lose

**_Simon_ **

Baz's chest is warmer than the rest of him. Usually. Right _now_ , it's veritably hot (both literally and figuratively). And a little sweaty (which is also hot). (Figuratively.)

We made our way to his bed, earlier, and now the blankets form a warm, tangled cocoon around us. I'm laying with my head on his bare chest, trying to keep my eyes open. My fingers draw nonsensical patterns on the soft expanse of his skin. Every so often I tip my chin down, brushing vague kisses wherever my lips happen to land. Baz has his arms wrapped loosely around me, his chest rising slow and deep. He's got to be exhausted-- I know _I_ am. The lights are off, which isn't helping me stay awake. Every noise except for our breathing sounds muffled and far away and vastly unimportant.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice raspy and hoarse, "for today. I... I needed it. I think... I felt like I was losing my mind." Baz kisses my forehead in reply, and I can _feel_ the smirk on his lips (the tosser) ( _my_ tosser).

"Anytime, Snow," He drawls, teasing me. "It's always a pleasure." Laughing, I flick his stomach. He beams at me, showing all of his teeth. He does that more often now, and I love it. I'm in love with Baz's irresistible, perfect smiles. With those ridiculous, needle-sharp canines and all their toxicity. With _Baz_ , full stop.

"In all seriousness," He continues, his voice soft and sweet, "If you ever need anything, Si... I'll always be there for you. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy."

My heart blooms in my throat. I feel my cheeks reddening.

"You too, Baz," I choke out through the ridiculous amount of emotions clogging my throat. "You know I'd do anything for you."

Baz doesn't answer. He just crooks his finger under my chin, lifting it and arcing his neck until our lips meet in the gentlest, sweetest kiss. A kiss that makes it feel like the world could never go wrong for us ever again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the almost _musical_ novelty of the prospect.

"I'm, like, absurdly in love with you, Baz. You know that, right?" I whisper when we pull away, nestling myself more comfortably into his chest. He strokes my hair with one hand, the other still wrapped around me, holding me to him.

"I'm more in love with you than anyone has any right to be," he replies, voice slurred and sleepy. My own eyelids begin to droop.

I keep talking, too tired to filter, saying everything that comes to my head.

"It's like, when I'm with you, I'm _home_. And it's better than Watford, or Magic, or any other 'home' I've ever had... because... because you're Baz Fucking Pitch, and that's really all the explanation for whatever I'm feeling I'll ever need..."

"Home..." Baz murmurs, half-asleep, "If I could have any home, I'd still choose you, Simon Snow..."

I smile, closing my eyes. Then the smile turns into a yawn. And then I'm asleep, tucked in the arms of Home.

\---------------------------

A phone is ringing. Insistently. Urgently. Its voice disjointed and off-kilter.

Baz shifts beneath me, his muscles pulling and tugging under my cheek.

"Hello?" He croaks, voice heavy with sleep. Crowley, what _time_ is it? Groggily, I open one eye, examining the clock on the bedside table. 4:46 AM.

Who's calling Baz at 4:46 in the morning?

Adrenaline and worry spike through me, waking me up. I roll off of Baz, sitting beside him on the bed instead. Watching his face for any clue as to what he's talking about. He reaches out for my hand, gripping it tightly. I give his fingers a reassuring squeeze, still watching him intently.

"Yes, I know she was there," He replies to a voice I can't quite hear, his brow creasing with concern and confusion.

"N-- she was, as of last week. Why?"

Silence. A garbled reply issues from the phone clutched in his pale hands, but I can't make out any words.

Baz's face goes white. Every muscle slackens, something akin to fear blooming in those pearly grey eyes.

"...When?" The word drops to the floor like a brick. Sitting there. Watching us. Waiting for a reply. Deadening every other noise.

"Thank you for calling me... I'll--" His voice breaks a little. Clearing his throat, he finishes, "I'll be in touch."

The phone drops leadenly to the bed. Those eyes turn on me, full to bursting with fear, the pupils so big they start to hide the grey.

"Baz..." I ask cautiously, my fingers gripping his smooth arm, "What's happened?"

He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. Just stares off at something neither of us can see, disbelief taking over the fear on his face.

"It's my Aunt Fiona..." He says, finally looking at me, "She's been kidnapped."

 


	8. If You Must Arrive

**_Agatha_ **

The flight here was murder.

And honestly? I'm regretting my decision to come back to England. Penny is chatting my ear off about Magickal Politics (something I couldn't care less about), I don't even know if I want to see Simon and Baz (apparently the whole 'friend' thing stuck) again, and Mum and Dad will probably just try and guilt trip me into staying, just like they always do.

Before I can work up the steam to yell at Penelope to shut up, her phone rings.

"Hey Baz, what's up?" Penny asks into the receiver. Icy fingers inch their way up my back at his name, and I feel myself stiffen. I don't care what Penny says- _I_ don't trust Baz. I didn't trust him when I was dating Simon, I didn't trust him when I had a petty crush on him, and I _certainly_ don't trust him now. He's just got this _gleam_ in his eye when he looks at Simon- like he's considering Simon as his next meal. And as awkward as it is (honestly, as it's always been) between Simon and I, I don't want him to be a vampire's supper.

"Wait... What?" Penny asks into the mobile, her brow creasing. I feel the faint urge to plug my ears, so I don't get accidentally pulled into their drama again. But I'm also just a little bit curious.

"No. _No_ , I get it, Basil, just... _Simon_. Tomorrow morning. Yes. If you need any help, just call me. _No_ , don't even _look_ at Simon bloody Snow. I mean it. Goodbye."

Panic snakes its way through my gut. What is Baz doing to Simon? Oh my God, what if my arrival, like... _triggered_ something in Baz, and he _kidnapped_ Simon? Jesus Christ, I can't get involved with this sort of shit anymore!

Penelope turns to me with a nervous, 'I'm hiding something' smile on her face. She always was a crap liar. Butterflies churn nervously in my stomach.

"Sorry about that, Agatha," she chirps in a falsely cheery voice. I feel my eyes go wide- and suddenly I wish very much that I had listened to my Normal boyfriend and just stayed in California.

"Erm..." I clear my throat, trying not to panic, "Wh-what did Basil want?" Penelope grins freakishly at me, showing too many teeth.

"Oh, nothing. He's not home right now- neither is Simon- but Simon will be back tomorrow morning, not to worry!" ****

_Yeah, sure Penelope. I'll believe that Simon is safe and sound with a fucking vampire. Sure, why not?_

I have to bite my tongue to keep from retorting in a stinging way.

"Oh, erm... good," I fib instead. "So... is everything, like, good with Baz? Like, are you all still... friends?"

Penny nods slowly, her brow creased like she doesn't trust me ( _me_ , of all people!). Or like she's choosing her answer very carefully.

"Yes. He and Simon, especially," comes her disturbingly succinct reply. I feel my own brows knit.

"Penny, are you sure that's smart? Letting Simon and Baz be friends? Baz is a _vampire_. He tried to _kill_ Simon. Like, multiple times."

Penny stiffens, looking almost pissed off. Letting off a deep sigh, she gathers her composure and glances sideways at me.

"Look, Agatha... a lot has changed since you've been gone. Baz is... different. I trust him."

_Well forgive me if your word isn't good enough, Penny, but you've trusted the wrong people before. Think of the Mage, dumbass._ _Think of that weird girl in Second Year you befriended whose father tried to murder Simon. Think of your entire time at Watford, dammit!_

It's my turn to sigh. I wish... I don't know anymore. I wish it was worth my time to speak my mind. I wish I never came back here. Sometimes I wish I had never gone to Watford at all. Never met Simon bloody Snow. Penelope. _Baz_.

Crowley, I was smitten with Baz in Eighth Year. He was such a bad boy, and everything he did was shrouded in so much mystery I could practically _taste_ it. He was just so different from Simon (not to mention my being with him would've pissed my parents off to no end). I couldn't resist him.

But I never trusted him. And I can't fathom why Penelope does.

"Whatever you say, Penelope," I reply. Unconvincingly.

Uncomfortable silence fills the car. Penny's fingers fidget on the steering wheel, a bracelet that can only be from Micah glinting on her wrist. She looks pale and wan and worried-- three things I'm unaccustomed to seeing on her face.

Would it be rude if I put headphones in? Maybe it would be rude. Maybe I don't care...

Penelope clears her throat before I can decide.

"Erm... Listen, Agatha... I--" She glances over at me, then looses another deep, dramatic sigh (I wish she would cut the sighing, it's grating on my fraying nerves). "You look tired," she continues, obviously switching topics from what she was originally going to say, "Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

I don't need to be asked twice, no matter how full of bullshit the suggestion is. Quickly, I grab my mobile and headphones from my bag, plugging them in. I turn my music up as loud as I can without Penny being able to hear it.

Drowning out the flood of unpleasantness that is England.

 


	9. If You Must Leave

**_Simon_ **

I've never been a huge fan of Baz's aunt Fiona. Ever since we've been together, she's been nicer to me, but I'm still typically at the arse-end of her pranks (the last time we visited her she spelled my toes into one big mega-toe)(I didn't even know there was a fucking _spell_ for that).

But still. Baz and Fiona are really close, and I can see how much it's hurting him that someone's taken her.

He leans up against me, the cold skin of his back pressing against my chest. Disbelief and hurt etch every crevice of his familiar face. My hands are in his hair, stroking it back, away from his face. Wishing I wasn't crap at comforting people (that's _Baz's_ job, not mine).

"Fiona...?" The incredulous word is barely a breath drifting off his lips.

"What are we gonna do?" I ask. Just because _I_ don't like Fiona doesn't mean I won't go to the ends of the earth searching for her. She's important to Baz, and whether I like it or not, that means she's important to me.

Baz tenses on top of me. I watch the muscle in his jaw bunch up, thinking about how I would've kissed it a few hours ago.

"First we're going to call Penny," He replies.

"And then what?"

Slowly, he turns to face me, those grey eyes drilling into my very soul. A shiver runs through me at the decisive intensity of his gaze.

"And then I'm going after Fiona."

My brow furrows, suspicion needling at the edges of my brain.

"You mean _we're_ going after Fiona... right?"

He doesn't look away, and I'm mesmirised by his liquid-silver eyes. Pouring into me. Filling me up.

Ever so slowly, he shakes his head.

"No, Si, I... this adventure's not for you. Not this time."

The words hit me like a deathblow. My heart has been stabbed, my head lobbed off and rolling on the floor. Spilling the silver blood poured into me by those silver eyes. If I still had wings, they'd be flared out angrily on either side, helping me intimidate him into changing his mind.

But I don't have wings. And I don't think Baz is going to change his mind.

"Baz, what? You can't do this alone, I won't let you," I protest angrily, blood boiling. Good thing I can't Go Off still, or we'd be sleeping in a crater.

Baz grips my arms with icy cold hands. Thumbs stroking up and down my skin in a vain attempt to soothe me (I will _not_ be soothed until he decides to stop being an idiotic twat).

"Simon. You can't come with me." That's that. He says it like there's nothing more to it. Like I won't put up a fight.

"Why not?" I demand, like the petulant child I am.

"Because I love you, and I don't know how dangerous this will be. You can't protect yourself with magic, and I don't know... I don't trust myself to be able to protect both of us. And... and I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt and I knew it was my fault for letting you come with me. That's why not."

I'm a bit taken aback by the answer. My mouth hangs open ever so slightly, and my eyes start to sting from holding them open so wide. Baz-- my beautiful, ridiculous Baz-- looks down sheepishly, finally breaking my gaze.

"Baz, I can--"

"No," He cuts me off, looking at me imploringly. " _Please_ , Simon. Please stay. Make sure Bunce and Wellbelove don't fuck things up. Keep an eye on things for me. Just please, _please_ stay."

The worry in his voice breaks my heart, and I melt.

Scrubbing at the back of my hair, I let out a deep, Penny-esque sigh. Dropping my hands from my head, I take his hands in mine, interlocking our fingers.

"Fine. But if you're not back in a few days, or if something happens, I'm coming after you. You can't stop me."

Baz nods, hair rustling forlornly. Leaning forward, I kiss the top of his forehead. He rests his head in the crook of my neck in response, warm breath tickling my bare collarbone.

"We should call Penny," He murmurs. I dip my chin once in agreement.

"Probably... though you might have a repeat of this conversation with her," I warn softly. Baz just sighs tiredly.

"I hope not... I don't think I have it in me."

 


	10. If You Must Speak

**_Baz_ **

The mobile on the bed between Simon and I barely rings for a second before Bunce picks up.

"Hey Baz, what's up?" she chirps, her familiar voice turned tinny by the speakerphone. The cheerfulness sounds so alien... how could anyone be happy when my aunt, a badass vampire-hunter and one of my favourite people on this earth, is kidnapped (and, honestly, most likely dead)? And she really is most likely dead. In her line of work? If it were death matched against any other fate that could logically befall a vampire-hunter, I would hope for death.

I swallow down the rising emotion in my throat. _I will not cry_ , I order myself, _Pitches do not cry over lost relatives_. As if sensing my distress, Snow grips my hand more tightly, grounding me. Reminding me that the literal centre of my universe is right by my side.

"Hello, Bunce," I choke out, fighting to retain a cool head. "I um... Just got a phone call from my dad... My aunt Fiona's been kidnapped."

Saying the words out loud feels so much worse. Like a bowling ball's been lobbed at my stomach; blowing me off my feet and knocking me senseless. Simon squeezes my hand again, his other arm wrapping around my bare waist. The warmth of his skin against mine stabilises me a bit.

"Wait... What?" Asks Bunce, incredulity blooming in her voice. I can practically see her expression. Saucer-sized eyes, gaping mouth, the single raised eyebrow (both she and I can do that; Simon's dead jealous of it).

Without warning, my resolve breaks. I drop my head into my hands, pinching the bridge of my nose to relieve some of the pressure building in my brain.

"I'm sorry, Bunce. I'm sorry I can't help out with your Wellbelove plot. I'm sorry. But I have to go after her." I feel the light pressure of Simon's lips against my shoulder and his hands stroking the skin of my back comfortingly.

"No. _No,_ I get it, Basil, just..." She sighs, " _Simon_." Simon. As in 'What the hell am I supposed to do with a dejected, overgrown puppy while you're gone?'. I shake my head before remembering she can't see me.

"He's right here, Penny. He knows. We talked about it. I'm leaving--"

"Tomorrow morning," She cuts me off (even though that's exactly what I was going to say, I don't have the energy to protest right now).

"Yeah, I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Can you be awake to let Simon in?"

"Yes. If you need any help, just call me," she replies. I nod again.

"Thank you, Bunce. Simon--"

" _No_ ," She cuts me off again (cutting people off; the quintessence of Bunce's existence), "Don't even _look_ at Simon bloody Snow. I mean it." I sigh, giving up on trying to rub out my mounting headache.

"I won't. Simon and I already talked about it. He's not coming with me, and won't go after me unless something happens. We agreed. There's nothing..." I trail off, realising what a blatant lie my next sentence will be, but say it anyway, "nothing to worry about. Goodbye, Bunce."

"Goodbye."

I hang up before she has the chance to add anything else. I can't bear the thought of another second of conversation.

Almost immediately, I crumple into Snow's arms, pressing my face into his chest and squeezing my eyes shut. My thoughts are racing too quickly to follow and I just wish they would _stop_. It would make this so much easier.

Simon lays back down, still holding me close, his lips buried in my hair.

"Shh... I've got you, you're gonna be okay... Just sleep now, Love, you'll fix this..." He murmurs.

"I hope that she's dead, Simon. For her sake-- if it's vampires that have her, I hope that she's dead," I whisper, sounding like a five year old who's afraid of the dark.

" _Baz_. Don't think like that. Don't _think_. Just sleep, baby... just sleep, I've got you now. I love you."

He holds me all night, stroking my hair and occasionally murmuring nonsensical, comforting words. Neither of us sleep. By the time the sun starts to peek over the horizon, lighting up the cloudy sky, my eyes are burning and I am dreading the daunting task ahead of me.

Aleister Crowley, if she's been Turned...

If Fiona Pitch has been Turned, and _survived_ the Turn... I think _I_ might have to kill her.

 


	11. If You Must Ask

**_Agatha_ **

An extremely disheveled and dejected Simon Snow shows up on the doorstep at 6 in the morning.

Penny opens the door for him, and I peek out from behind her, wanting to catch a glimpse of the boy I haven't seen in over two years. Since his adoptive father-figure tried to kill me. Since he started gallivanting around with a bloody _vampire_.

I can't see much through the crack in the door or around Penny, but it's enough. I see Simon, looking very... grown up. Put together, but somehow _off_ ; I can't quite tell how. And then I see Baz.

Baz, who looks as good as ever (if not better). Baz, who, upon closer inspection, is gripping Simon's arm a little too tightly. Baz, whose eyes have a hunted, fearful look to them. Like he's hiding something.

A war is being waged in my stomach. One half wants to be cool and beautiful for the boy I once coveted so much I dumped my boyfriend for him; the other wants to grab Simon and run away from the bloodsucking monster holding his arm. I have enough common sense not to do either.

Instead I watch, their voices too hushed for me to listen in (God, they're such a clique). Any time now I'll have to make a decision on whether to save Simon or seduce Baz...

But then, Penny opens the door a little wider, and Simon slips inside. He and the vampire exchange a look, and I swear there's fear in Simon's unremarkable blue eyes. And then Baz is gone, and Simon Snow is standing in front of me in all his Normal glory, his face sadder and more scared than I've ever seen it.

_What is Baz_ doing _to him?_

"Hi, Agatha," He says awkwardly, raising one hand in a halfhearted little wave.

"Hi, Simon," I reply, with equal ungainliness. Usually, I'm good at conversation, but I honestly don't know how to act in this situation. I've never stayed friends with any of my other exes, but I've also never _wanted_ to stay friends with my other exes. Simon, I'd at least like to be friendly with. I mean, I may not have loved him in the way he and my parents wanted me to, but I _did_ love him as a friend. It was just a difference of interests that got in the way.

I open my mouth to ask him how he's been, but he beats me to the punch, turning to Penny.

"I'm gonna go get some sleep," He tells her, the words sounding like they've got a hidden meaning behind them. Maybe that's just me being paranoid, though. He _does_ look like he's had a rough night; giant, dark bags under his eyes, bronze curls sticking out in every direction, sagging shoulders.

Penny nods, briefly resting her hand on his shoulder. For a moment, the weight of her hand tugs down the collar of Simon's oversized sweatshirt, and I catch a glimpse of something that looks suspiciously like a bruise on his collarbone. Then she lets go and the collar springs back into place, hiding the mark.

Alarm sweeps through me. Has Baz been _hurting_ him? Jesus Christ, how has Penny not noticed any of this? Or is she just too afraid to do something about it? Has Baz threatened her? What the _hell_ is going on here?

Before I can ask Simon any of these questions, he pushes past me down the short corridor, turning in to a doorway and locking the door behind him.

Leaving Penny and I alone again. Great.

But now, I've got something to talk to her about, I suppose. I'm going to get to the bottom of this, even if it takes me all week.

Penny stares at Simon's door for a few moments, then jolts like she's just now remembering I'm here, turning to face me. A forced smile stretches across her chapped lips.

"Sorry about that, Agatha. Simon and Baz..." She doesn't finish the sentence. The anticipation wraps around my gut like an iron fist. "Anyway," She continues, disappointing me, "Let's have a bit of breakfast, yeah? Then I'll show you to your room and you can catch up on your sleep."

I nod in agreement.

She takes us into the small kitchen, getting out plates and the toaster and a pan.

"Fancy some eggs on toast?" she asks, dropping a pat of butter onto the pan. I nod again, trying to figure out how to subtly ask my questions without raising her suspicion (who am I kidding? Penny's suspicious of _everything_ ).

"Sure."

I wait until she flips over the eggs before I strike.

"I thought you said Baz was going to be here?" I ask, feigning nonchalance. Penny raises an eyebrow but doesn't look at me.

"He was, but... Something came up. Family trouble." A short, no-frills answer. I don't know what else I expected. Time to dig deeper, I guess.

"What were you talking to him about on your phone?" (I've started saying "phone" instead of "mobile", and it drives Penny and my mum ballistic; I love it).

Penelope stiffens, but it doesn't look like it's in annoyance. No, she's _definitely_ hiding something.

"The... thing he left for. And... Simon." Jesus, I didn't think it would be _this_ hard to get a straight answer out of her.

Fine. I'll dig it out of her over the course of the week. It's more than obvious that none of my questions will be answered today. I suppose I'll just have to deal with the wait. And the possible knowledge that Baz might be doing something awful to Simon.

 


	12. If You Must Weep

**_Simon_ **

Why am I crying? I don't know why I'm crying.

I close the door behind me, leaning my full weight into it. As I slide to the ground, the tears are already slipping down my cheeks. Clinging to my jaw for a few seconds before falling forlornly onto my sweatshirt. I don't wipe them away, just let them fall. Let them dampen the warm fabric that still smells like Baz. Like something warm and alive and more beautiful than anything in the world.

_Why the hell am I crying?_

Maybe because I have a horrible feeling about Baz going out after Fiona alone. Maybe because I can't fucking _help_ him without my magic. Maybe because I'm completely useless.

The sweatshirt isn't helping. Baz wadded it up last night and used it like a second pillow, and every breath in is like a silent reminder that he's traipsing into danger right now. Without me.

I angrily tug off the stupid piece of fabric, tossing it across the room. My torso looks too pale in the semidarkness of my room, except for a hickey just below my collarbone I hadn't realised was there. Damn. I think I'm out of that concealer stuff Baz bought (I'm _borrowing_ it from him, I did not _steal_ it). Guess I'll just have to be careful what I wear around Agatha so she doesn't see (Penny's used to it by now).

_Aleister Crowley, I'm a fucking mess._

With a groan, I drop my head into my arms, squeezing my eyes shut. My mind whirls sickeningly, thoughts of Baz and Fiona and vampires and premonitions hissing and jeering at me like static on a television.

_There's nothing you can do_ , I try to tell myself, _It'll all be okay_. I don't believe a word of it. There are some lies so blatantly false that even the best liars can't force any life into them. I guess this is one of those lies.

The tears are too hot on my cheeks in the cold of my room, but I still don't wipe them away. Every ounce of willpower I have is currently being concentrated on not stealing Penny's car and driving after my idiotic boyfriend. Though maybe that makes _me_ the idiotic boyfriend.

_Just wait it out_ , My head tries desperately to rationalise, _He'll call if he needs you. He'll be fine._

Another blatant lie.


	13. If You Must Follow

**_Baz_ **

After dropping Simon off at home, I drive to Fiona's last known location-- a shoddy pub in Swansea. The pounding rain slashes across the underside of the Jag, making the tyres slip a little. Gritting my teeth, I white-knuckle the steering wheel and keep going.

Three and a half hours later, I've managed to survive the treacherous downpour, which is still raging on outside the car, the wind howling against the windows. Great. Perfect weather for vampire hunting.

Fishtailing into a car park by the pub, I try and force my racing heart to slow. Giving myself little instructions to calm myself down.

_Park the car, Baz._

Done.

_Breathe, Baz. Breathing is important._

Is it really _that_ important?

_Text Si, he's probably worried out of his mind_.

Simon. I feel so horrible for leaving him at home in London; he's my partner in crime (my partner in everything). We determined a long time ago that when one of us waltzes off to their probable death, the other will follow.

But Simon can't. Not this time. He hasn't got any way to protect himself, and if he were to die while looking for _my_ aunt-- I wouldn't be able to live with myself. And we all know where 'not being able to live with myself' got me last time (fire, smoke, Snow kissing me instead of being a proper super villain and ending me)...

Shaking the thoughts of that damned Christmas out of my head, I scoop up my mobile and text my idiotic (although adorable) boyfriend.

_'Got to Swansea alright. You okay?'_

Snow answers almost immediately, which worries me. Did he just happen to be dicking about on his mobile, or has he been carrying it around, waiting for me to text? He usually _hates_ carrying his mobile (I think Watford's 'no electronics' rule brainwashed him)(he insists it wasn't _brainwashing_ ).

_'Hey. Glad to hear you got there okay. Nothing's exploded here yet, so I guess that's good...'_

And then, in quick succession,

_'I miss you. I love you.'_

The first text makes me laugh. As most of his texts do (laughing and blushing at my phone are just a few of the things Simon Snow makes me do on a regular basis). The second text shatters my heart. What was I _thinking_ , leaving him behind? Why do I regret it so much, when I know his coming with me would only put him in danger?

I sigh, resting my forehead against the cold glass of the window. It's only ten in the morning, but the sky's so dark it feels like midnight.

_'Call me_.'

I text him quickly, typing out those two words like they're my lifeline. If something goes wrong on this little expedition of mine, they very well might be.

A moment later, the hunk of metal and plastic in my hand begins to buzz, Simon's smiling photo popping up on the screen. I feel every too-tight muscle in my neck and shoulders release when I hear his voice.

" _Baz_ ," he breathes into the receiver. The ghost of a smile quirks up the corners of my lips.

"Hi, love," I whisper back, wishing there was a spell to pull him through the receiver.

"I miss you," he says again, voice so soft I have to stay very still to hear it. He sounds like he's been crying-- not a good sign. An iron fist squeezes around my heart at the realisation.

"I know. I miss you too. You didn't really answer my question earlier... are you okay?"

Silence, for a moment. Snow's thinking silence.

"... I don't know. I think-- I don't know, Baz... I've just... I've got a bad feeling about this..."

_Stop talking, you're breaking my heart, you bloody idiot!_ I close my eyes, blocking out the storm raging outside of the Jag.

"Me too. But I can't just do nothing, Si. She's my aunt."

With my eyes shut like this, I can almost imagine we're back in bed, our foreheads resting against one another and our limbs hopelessly entangled. Whispering the secrets of our little universes to each other like lovesick schoolchildren.

"I know, Baz. Just... be careful, okay? For me?" His voice is a desperate whisper; a quiet plea. I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly, wishing for all the world to go back in time to last night.

"Always," I murmur, "Always, for you."

For a moment we let silence fill the miles between us. Let it connect us, draw us back together. Letting it take me away from this place that feels dark and dreary and just altogether _wrong_.

"I love you." It's a breath of wind, a bare hint of a whisper. I picture the words cascading from his lips like a sunbeam through a window. Like the sea spray that drifts through the tempestuous air, speckling my car and chilling my bones.

"I love you too." My voice is no louder than his.

"Goodbye, Baz... stay safe, for me."

I nod, knowing he can't see me but not wanting to speak.

"I will," I finally choke out. "I will."

After the line goes dead, I open my eyes. Letting in the dark, stormy midmorning. Letting the realisation that I'm not back at home with my beloved sink in. Soaking in the silence. Drowning in it.

Aleister Crowley, I've got a bad feeling about this. (From Elsa to Han Solo in less than a fortnight!)

Sucking in a deep breath, I gather my wits and square my shoulders. I've got a job to do.

Quickly, I rummage around in the back seat, pulling out my wand. Tapping it on my sleeve, I murmur **_'A true gentleman never goes out of fashion!'_** ****

Almost immediately, my shoddy sweater, ratty jeans, and gnarled trainers morph into a smart black suit and dress shoes. Looking at myself in the rear view mirror, I use my wand to slick back my hair, completing the look. I don't give a damn how seedy this pub is, I'll be hanged before I go into a job like this without looking as badass as possible.

Casting a quick waterproofing spell over myself, I step outside, into the unrelenting rain.

The pub is even worse-looking in real life than on google maps.

Planting a sneer on my face, I push open the doors. A flood of stale, alcohol-laced air washes over me, making my eyes water. I don't think I've really been in a pub since eighth year, and I was barely of age then. The fact that I'm well overage now only boosts my confidence, and the sneer deepens.

"Wha' can I do for you, pal?" asks the weedy barkeep. The long A's and the glottals of his accent match his stained striped apron and his crooked mustache. I turn on him, ever so slightly raising one eyebrow.

"I have a few inquiries for you, sir," I inform him, doing my best to sound as official as possible. Like I belong here. Like this is my job. Like I'm Sherlock bloody Holmes, out in the wild without his Watson.

The barkeep leans forward, his slick black eyebrows protruding over the bridge of his weirdly skinny nose.

"Yeah? Wha' about?"

Gracefully, I sit down on one of the tall stools, reaching a hand inside my suit jacket and fishing out a photograph of Aunt Fiona. I slide it across the bar to him, and he quickly scoops it up with gnarled, weather-worn hands.

"Have you seen this woman?" I ask, smooth as you please. The man squints at it for a few seconds. Then, holding up a finger to me, he fishes around under the bar, finally reappearing with a pair of bright red half-moon glasses in his hand. Sliding the spectacles onto his nose, he reexamines the photo.

"I reckon so-- yeah, saw 'er just... in the las' fortnigh', or somesuch like that."

My heart begins to pound wildly in my chest, hope sparking a small fire in my stomach. Outwardly, I keep my cool.

"Please tell me everything you remember about the night you saw her."

The man leans forward a little, his interest obviously piqued.

"Is she involved in any trouble?" He asks excitedly. Resisting the almost overwhelming urge to roll my eyes, I shake my head once, careful not to upset my hair.

"No. She's missing."

The man lets out a huff of disappointment. I grit my teeth in annoyance. Crowley, anything less than a murder and people don't give a rat's arse. Human nature disgusts me.

"Oh. Well, I don' remember much. Bu' I do remember she drank 'er weight in ale an' didn't get at all plastered. An' she left with some... some odd-looking fellow with a _cape,_ of all things."

She went off with someone? That doesn't sound like Fiona at all. What the hell happened?

"What do you mean when you say 'odd-looking'?" I ask, trying desperately to keep up my calm façade.

"I dunno... tall like, with long black hair an'... an' I remember he was paler than anything. Bloke 'ad dark eyes, too, I remember tha'."

Something's not adding up here. I mean, the pale skin sounds like a vampire. But unless he had black eyes before the Turn, it doesn't make sense for a vampire to have noticeably dark eyes. And no self-respecting vampire would wear a fucking cape. Not that many of them-- us-- are self-respecting...

"What else do you remember?" I push, "Do you have any idea where they went?"

The man thinks for a second, rubbing the heel of his hand along the rough stubble on his jaw.

"Erm... I remember talking to my mate after my shift ended. 'E mentioned seeing tha' shady bloke in one o' the empty houses jus' outside o' town. Maybe your missing bird wen' there."

"Could you show me on a map where those houses are?"

The man considers me for a moment before shrugging.

"Sure. Here," He pulls out a small 'Visit Beautiful Swansea' brochure and turns to a map inside. "The 'ouses are all righ' in this block. All within a kilometer of one another." He draws a little rectangle, then puts an X through it. "That's where you'll find them, if anywhere."

I slide the map and Fiona's picture back into my pocket. With a nod to the barkeep, I turn to leave.

"Thank you for your time, sir."

The man nods back at me.

"Much obliged, son. Good luck."

I'll need it.

 


	14. If You Must Run

**_Baz_ **

It only takes me a quarter of an hour to drive to the location the bartender marked. As I drive further and further out of town, the roads get steadily narrower, more pockmarked with holes and scattered with gravel. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly it hurts, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm not dying in a fucking car crash while on a vampire hunt.

In the dark of the storm, the hedges lining the road look like things that want to eat me. (Question: are vampires higher on the food chain than humans?).(Aleister fucking Crowley, I'm turning into Simon Snow). Even the Jag's bright headlights only deepen their ominous shadows. I feel like Alice, falling down the endless rabbit hole. Forever and forever and forever...

Needless to say, the fifteen minute drive feels like eternity. Finally, small, dilapidated houses with cracked, peeling paint and moss-furred shingles emerge like beasts in the dark. They rise in a haphazard yet somehow stolid row on one side of the road, side by side. So close together you could stand between them with your arms out and easily touch the slimy siding on either side.

Only one house looks like it's seen any use in the last fifty years. A set of tyre prints dig deep trenches in the muddy driveway of a squalid, lopsided house that I think must've been blue once. Its splintering door has been nailed onto new, mismatched hinges (one bright bronze, the other ornate and black) and hangs crookedly from the frame. It doesn't look like anyone's home, but I could be wrong.

I pull slowly into the driveway, trying to make as little noise as possible. Then I sit in the car, staring at the house for a few minutes. Assessing the situation.

Honestly? I would _never_ go into a house like this if Fiona's life weren't on the line. _The things I do for family..._

_Suck it up, Basil. You're a motherfucking Pitch. Pitches don't pay ransom, remember? They get shit done themselves._

The thought banishes any and all doubt, leaving behind only a cool, clean current of pure magic and adrenaline pumping through my veins. Before I can lose my nerve, I grab my wand, turning my clothes back to normal (one does not wear a suit to a trap house, it's frowned upon). As soon as that's done, I fish my mobile out from my pocket and press the 'share my location' button so Si and Bunce (preferably not Wellbelove) can find me if anything goes wrong. Then I step out of the car, gently closing the door so as not to make any noise. I creep up to the disintegrating porch, squaring off with the threshold and staring at those mismatched hinges.

A deep, silent breath. _I can do this_.

Clenching my jaw, I open the door.

 

 


	15. If You Must Worry

**_Penelope_ **

Simon comes out (ha.) the next morning looking a little better. The dark circles under his eyes are still there, and his shoulders are still hunched forward dejectedly, but he seems less... just _less_. Less of everything he was yesterday. More like he's braced himself to face the music. He's more alert, a bit more smiley, and is wearing one of Baz's jumpers (those two should just move in together already, honestly; this jumping back and forth between flats is getting a bit ridiculous).

Still, I watch his face for signs anything I should be worried about. There's this shadow lingering in the lines of his face that makes me more than a little anxious.

"Alright, Simon?" I greet him, turning my attention back to the frying pan I'm holding so he won't know I was staring.

"I've been better," He mutters in reply. "You?" I shrug, setting down the pan and facing him again.

"I'm good. Are you worried?"

Those blue eyes get as big as saucers. He glances around furtively, making sure Agatha isn't around, then steps closer to me before answering.

"Yes. Of course. Are you?" He looks over his shoulder, but I tap his cheek, turning his head back to face me.

"She's putting on makeup, Simon, you don't have to watch your back. But no, I'm not worried. Baz kicks ass." (I don't mind admitting that when Baz isn't around).

To my surprise, Simon grins. A childish, proud, shit-eating grin that sparks a responding smirk on my own lips. His entire golden face lights up the way it does whenever Baz walks into a room-- in a way it never did with Agatha.

I know, in this moment, that Simon Snow is truly happy. He's happy his life didn't end in fire and pain, like we all thought it would. He's happy he's with Baz. He's happy with his choices. He may be worried and tense and stressed and missing his boyfriend (an epithet that doesn't even _begin_ to describe his relationship to Baz), but he really is head-over-heels in love with life. And I'm so incredibly _proud_ of him. I was afraid there would never get to be a point in Simon's life where all was good and right.

"He does. You're right. Baz may be the world's lousiest vampire, but he sure is a kickass Mage," Simon replies, his voice all bubbling pride and poorly masked apprehension.

"You're damn right he is." I reach up and tousle his already messy curls. He steals a quick peck on my cheek.

I think, of all my siblings, Simon is my favourite. (He officially surpassed the title of pseudo-brother and was promoted to the title of official-brother a _long_ time ago).

"You gonna eat today?" I ask, turning back to stove, watching him carefully from the corner of my eye. He shrugs, some of the tension returning to his shoulders, that harried look staining the edges of his familiar face once more. But the smile lingers in his eyes, and that's enough for me. I know he'll be okay, at least for a little while.

"Yeah. What're you making?"

"Kippers and toast. Will you go fetch Agatha?"

Simon stiffens a little, but doesn't object. He must have finally given in to the fact that she's staying here for the week and there's nothing he can do about it.

"Sure. Yeah," He replies hesitantly. I huff a sigh through my nose.

"Honestly, Simon, she's not going to bite you. Just... be nice. Pretend you never dated her."

One eyebrow raises. An almost comically contemplative look slips onto his features.

"Actually... that's not a bad idea, Penny. I'll go get her," he muses. I wave him away with the spatula I'm holding, rolling my eyes.

"Just go, you great thumping idiot."

With one last (admittedly a little more halfhearted) smile at me, Simon leaves the kitchen. Leaving me alone with my hidden worry.

 

 


	16. If You Must Spy

**_Simon_ **

I peek at Agatha through a crack in the door. She's got her makeup brushes and tubes and bottles spread out across the bathroom, and she's dabbing something onto her cheeks.

I study her face, trying to remember what I saw in her. Wondering if there's any of that old flutter in my stomach leftover from our Watford days.

I mean, she's _pretty_ ; Agatha Wellbelove is most definitely gorgeous. But... if I'm being honest?Baz is prettier. Not just prettier, but more beautiful. Agatha is pretty in the way a movie star is pretty; doll-like, perfect, flawless, _untouchable_. But Baz is beautiful in a way that's more _real_. He is right here, right now. Flawed, but all the more lovely for it.  The realisation strengthens my reserve,  and suddenly I don't feel so nervous anymore. I don't feel like Agatha's a snake just waiting to bite.

I push open the door.

"Agatha--" Agatha jumps with a surprised gasp, cutting me off and making _me_ gasp. She stares at me like I'm a ghost, her eyes wide and petrified. Her breaths come too fast, like she's just been on a run.

Once we've both recovered, I try again.

"Sorry... Breakfast is ready, if you'd like some. Kippers and toast." Agatha nods, her liquid brown eyes never leaving my face. Jutting my jaw out, I square my shoulders and stand my ground, refusing to look away.

"It's good to see you, Simon," She says at last, breaking the awful silence. I feel my cheeks heat up, and, not for the first time, I'm glad I can't Go Off anymore. If I could, the flat would be on fire.

"It's, um... good to see you, too..." My words sound more like a question than anything. Am I glad to see her? I'm not sure.

Clearing my throat, I turn to leave.

"Breakfast is on the table, if you'd like some," I tell her over my shoulder. I hear a quiet 'thank you' in reply before I close the door behind me, blocking out Agatha Wellbelove and all her chaotic glory.

\-------------------------

I check my mobile every five minutes. Baz was supposed to call every morning, but it's already ten thirty and he hasn't even texted. I'm starting to get worried again; that horrible clenching in my stomach making my kippers want to make a reappearance.

To make matters worse, Agatha keeps trying to _talk_ to me. And she's using this voice-- like what you would use to speak with a sick kid. Not with a twenty-one-year-old ex-supervillain. I can't handle it for much longer; it's making my head spin chaotically and it's _not_ helping my stomachache.

"So, Simon," She asks, dabbing at the corners of her lips like a fucking princess, "How are things? We didn't get a chance to talk yesterday."

I don't look up from my mobile screen (which remains disappointingly blank).

"Hmm? Oh... things are fine. I'm fine. Life's fine," I babble distractedly, not really paying attention to what I'm saying. Penny's gaping at me like I'm a madman. (Maybe I _am_ a madman... isn't checking my phone every two seconds and expecting different results the _definition_ of insanity?).

"How's... Baz?" She asks it so suspiciously and tentatively that I look up at her, brow furrowing in a scowl. She won't meet my eyes.

Fear curdles in my stomach. And more than a bit of jealousy. I swear to Crowley _,_ if she still fancies Baz and tries to make a move I will _fuck_ him in front of her to keep her claws out of him (okay, maybe I'm being a _bit_ dramatic, _but still._ Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is the love of _my_ life, not hers). I tense up, readying for a fight.

"Baz is... good. He's been happily in a relationship for the past couple of years, and they're great together--" I want to say more, but Penny kicks me viciously under the table, effectively shutting me up. With a pointed look in my direction that plainly says ' _shut up, you bloody idiot'_ , she picks up the slack in the conversation. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her, rubbing my shin under the table.

"Baz has been hanging around with us a lot more, lately," Penny replies stiffly. "It's a pity he couldn't be here while you're here, but he had some stuff he had to see to. How are things in America?"

Agatha's face falls disappointedly for a moment, but she composes herself and plasters an obviously fake smile onto her pink lips.

What did I ever see in her?

"Things are really great," she responds, flipping her long hair out of her face (even _that_ gesture feels annoying now). "I've got a cute flat, and Uni is _so_ fun. Everyone there's great. What's Micah up to these days?"

Penny blushes, a small smile tugging up the corner of her mouth.

"Micah is still working with his dad in Ohio, but he's thinking about moving here. I think..." Penny bites her lip, obviously trying not to smile and failing miserably. An answering grin ghosts my lips; I know where she's going with this. She's talked about this for a _long_ time. "I think," Penny continues, "I'm going to propose to him next time he visits."

Agatha squeals excitedly, making me wince. Why is everything she does grating on my nerves so much? It's like I've forgotten how to just be _friends_ with Agatha-- I don't _want_ to hate her, but that seems to be what my brain is set on.

"Oh my God, Penny! That's so exciting! Call me as soon as it happens, yeah?" she burbles. Penny smiles, and it's a real smile. Not one of those tense, tight smiles I've been seeing so much of lately. No, Penelope Bunce is actually _happy_. And I'm happy she's happy; just because _I_ can't deal with Agatha doesn't mean Penelope has to dislike her, too. Penny needs more friends, and Agatha would make a welcome addition to that category.

In my lap, my mobile buzzes. I jump up, hurtling out of the kitchen and into my room without any explanation to the girls, clutching the device to my chest. Sitting down on my bed, I look at the screen excitedly, praying it's Baz.

It's not.

My heart sinks through the mattress when I realise it's only a reminder I set that Baz is _supposed_ to be calling. The words seem to shimmer tauntingly, hauntingly. _He's not gonna call..._ I hear them whisper in the back of my mind, _Something terrible has happened to him and he's never gonna call you again, Simon Snow. Get used to it..._

Growling, I throw my mobile. It hits the door, pushing the door shut, and falls to the ground with a lifeless, dull thud. Even from here, I can see it's undamaged. Like a fucking Nokia (except it's _not_ )(I think Penny might've spelled it tough, just because she knows I break things)(not that she would ever admit to doing so).

I press my fists into my eyes, resting my elbows on my knees and hunching over.

"Dammit, Baz..." I murmur angrily to my empty room, "where are you?"

 

 


	17. If You Must Scream

**_Baz_ **

My first thought when I come to is that I have to call Simon.

My second thought is the realisation that I _can't_ call Simon because I can't move my arms, for whatever inexplicable reason.

My third thought is that everything hurts. My face, my chest, my limbs... I think I feel the sticky trickle of blood in various places all over my body-- my nose, in particular. The acrid tang of blood stings my chapped lips as it runs down my face and drips off my chin. And breathing is more difficult than it should be; like someone's shoved a length of cloth up my painful nose. My mouth falls slightly open to compensate for the lacking intake of oxygen.

My last thought is that I should open my eyes, in the hopes that maybe what I see will explain why the _fuck_ my hands are tied and my nose feels broken.

The only problem with that last one is consciousness is a slippery bastard. I fight desperately against the ropy weight of unconsciousness pulling at me, wrenching my eyes open. (A task made even more difficult by the two lovely black and swollen eyes I'm sporting).

The world is too dark. Not just normal, night-time darkness, either. Like the sun collapsed in on itself, taking with it any and all light that could cut through the inky black mirk. The miasma feels _alive,_ somehow. Watching. Waiting. _Hungry_.

Gritting my teeth, I strain against the cold metal of whatever's binding my hands, reaching fruitlessly for the mobile in my pocket. The metal only digs into my wrists, and I feel new trickles of blood ooze out and pool in the sweaty palms of my hands. _Fuck._

" _Fuck_ ," I growl aloud softly, echoing my thoughts. My mind races wildly, grasping frantically for escape ideas.

Something cracks not far off, and I freeze, waiting with bated breath for something to appear through the gloaming. It almost sounded like a bone snapping. Maybe a tree branch broke? Whatever it was, muttering obscenities while tied up in the middle of the woods was probably _not_ my best move.

A hand, colder than the touch of Death, grasps my bare arm. Snarling, I whip my head around to face whoever it is, only to find... no one. No one stands beside me. No hand grips my upper arm-- only a tendril of dark smoke wreaths about my skin.

"What the fu--" My words are cut off by my own scream of pain as my arm _cracks,_ the black smoke swirling tighter and tighter around it _._ The bone splinters, and the jagged edge of what was once the lower half of my humerus rips through my skin, exposing itself. White-hot, sickening agony courses through my every atom. Tears stream uncontrollably down my cheeks, the stinging of the saltwater against the small cuts on my face muted by the horrible, unbearable arcs of pure fire flaring from my arm. The sight of my own bone, so glaringly, starkly white against my red, red blood, sends me over some sort of edge. Leaning over (okay, maybe falling over), I am violently sick on the rotting grass beneath me. My stomach heaves and heaves, until there is nothing left to come up and I am left dry-heaving over a puddle of my own vomit. Blackness creeps into the edges of my vision, threatening to choke out the dark world again.

Before I can even try and allow it to do so of its own accord, something slams painfully into the side of my head, and I thrown head-over-heels into a blissful, painless state of unconsciousness.

 

 


	18. If You Must Hurry

**_Simon_ **

_Baz is screaming my name, over and over. Blood blankets everything, the crimson mingling with the black smoke that obscures everything but him. Blood on his face, his arms, his legs, his torso. Staining the ground, the trees around him. Burbling from his mouth with every syllable of my name. Blood and blood and blood._

_"Simon! Simon! Simon!" Every phoneme sends icy claws ripping through my heart, eating me alive from the inside out. I open my mouth to cry out to him, but nothing comes out. Nothing but more of that dark, dark smoke. Tears cut bleeding trails down my cheeks like razor blades._

_A hand touches my arm; a hand colder than any cold I've felt before. Turning, I look at it, only to see a ring of the vapour crawling over my skin. Sending electric shivers up my spine._

_"Come find him, Chosen One..." a voice deeper and darker than the origin of all evil murmurs sensually in my ear. "Can't you see he's hurting?"_

\-------------------------

I sit bolt upright in bed, breath forcing its way too quickly from my lungs, leaving me gasping. Sucking in air like a dying fish. Or an addict in desperate need of a hit.

"It was just a dream... it was just a dream..." I breathe, attempting to calm myself down.

It isn't working.

I can still feel the slice of my tears down my cheeks, can still hear Baz's awful, agonised screams. Screaming and screaming and screaming. That hell-blackened voice echoes in my mind, the words repeating endlessly.

_"Come find him, Chosen One... Can't you see he's hurting?"_

Tears, real ones this time, tumble down my face before I can stop them. I wipe them angrily away-- I've cried too often this week. I refuse to be known as the Crying One. ( _Dammit Baz, look what you do to me..._ )

Fumbling for a moment, I search in the dark for my mobile to check if Baz called.

Raising the cold hunk of metal and glass to eye level, I stare at the disappointingly blank screen. Still no word from Baz. I'll have to wait until morning to try and find him (how I'll accomplish that, I'm not exactly sure); Penny might kill me if I try to go now.

With a huff that's somewhere between a growl and a sob, I drop the mobile back onto my bed, then push my fingers roughly through my tousled hair. I fall back onto my mattress, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Trying not to think about Baz-- to think _at all_. The dark ceiling taunts me, echoing the blankness of my mobile screen.

Then an idea hits me with all the force of Going Off. Maybe even the force of Going Out.

Quick as I can, I pick my phone back up, turning it on and scrolling through the pages until I find what I'm looking for: the find my mobile app. How the fuck did I not think of this before? Crowley, I'm an _idiot_.

Heartbeat racing, I log in. My fingers trip and tumble across the keyboard, like they're running downhill, stumbling to keep up with the force of gravity.

That little loading circle flashes on the screen. Bright. Pulsating. Ominous (more so than any piece of technology has the right to be).

And then there he is. A little blue dot just above Swansea. A little blue dot containing my entire world. A little blue dot that sparks hope into my heart for the first time in days.

I have to go find him. I have to find my... my _Baz_. My sweetheart. My sun. My moon. All of my stars. My home. I _have_ to go find him.

Before I register what I'm doing, I've pulled on some jeans and a shirt. Then I'm out the door, racing the 10 feet between my room and Penny's. Feet slipping and sliding the way they do when Baz and I get bored and decide to go 'sockskating' down the hall (which happens more often than I care to admit). I have to slam into the wall to stop.

"Penny!" I whisper-shout, " _Penny!_ " My knuckles smart from rapping them against her door.

Penny bursts out into the hall, brandishing her ring, her purple hair flying in every direction. For a moment, she looks weirdly like her mum. All dark eyes and fire.

"What? What's happened?" She demands, eyes darting every which way. I shove my phone at her.

" _Baz!_ He left his tracking whatever on-- Penny, I can _find_ him!"

Penelope blinks. Once. Twice. ( _Processing... Processing..._ ).

"Oh my God," She finally says, eyes going wide. " _Simon_. How... Crowley, we're getting slow... Simon, _go!_ "

I think Penny must be able to hear my heartbeat, at this point. It slams against my sternum, each beat sounding like his name.

_Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz..._

I don't need to be told twice. Leaning forward, I peck her cheek, and then I'm _off._ Sprinting towards the nearest pair of shoes, scooping up Penny's car keys on my way.

"Call me!" I hear her shout after me. I'm gone before I can say I will.

_Baz, Baz, Baz..._

My heart continues to beat his name, growing stronger and stronger until I think I might choke. All the while, a second little rhythm whispers in the back of my mind,

_Hurry, hurry, hurry..._

I jump into the car, slamming the door and gunning the ignition. Speeding out of London, out of the light and the life of the city. Driving until I'm racing along unlit country roads.

It's amazing how fast you can go on empty roads at 3 in the morning.

I press the pedal to the floor, and in the dark it no longer feels like I'm driving. No, this... this is _flying_.


	19. If You Must Realise

**_Penelope_ **

I'm tired.

Not in a normal way, either. It's like how Simon Going Off always made me feel-- buzzing and heavy all at once. That bone-deep weariness you can't shake after being ill that makes you want nothing more than to lay down in your mum's arms and sleep for a long, long time.

So much has happened in the past seventy-two hours alone, it's a wonder I'm still on my feet. I think I only let Simon take my car because I'm too emotionally and physically exhausted to argue (that and I'm nearly as worried about Baz as Simon is).

Poor Simon. I just--

I just want the world to leave him alone, for a little while. He deserves a break. Both he and Baz do.

With a sigh, I push open the door to my room, rubbing at my eyes with the heels of my hands. Lights and colours pop across the dark behind my eyelids.

"Sorry about that, Agatha, Simon-- Agatha?" I stop in my tracks, staring down at Agatha in her sleeping bag.

For a moment, I think she's been hexed. Those light brown eyes are bulging and wide open. Her mouth hangs in a comical 'o', her jaw practically touching her chest.

I rush over to her, crouching down beside her.

"Agatha? What's the matter?" I ask frantically, gripping her shoulder. Slowly, as if in a trance, she turns and faces me.

"It's... _Simon_ ," She replies incredulously, shoving something into my hands. I peer down at it.

It's a photograph. Of Watford. Of a girl with yellow-blonde hair and bright blue eyes standing next to--

"Is that the Mage?" Agatha nods her head, pushing the photo closer to my face.

"Yes, it's him and his girlfriend-- that's unimportant! Penny _look_." She jumps up, snatching a framed photo of Simon and Baz and I off of my dresser, practically throwing it at me.

Holding the two pictures side by side, I look more closely at them.

Then something clicks, and all of the air leaves my lungs in one big _whoosh_. The two photos drop out of my hands, thudding gently onto Agatha's sleeping bag. I hardly even notice.

" _Simon_ ," I breathe, "Oh my God, Agatha..."

I pick up the first picture, staring at it, barely believing my eyes.

Because if you look closely, the Mage and his girlfriend look an _awful_ lot like Simon Snow.

Or Simon Snow looks an awful lot like them.

 


	20. If You Must Listen

**_Agatha_ **

Oh my God.

Everything makes a little more sense. The Mage's interest in Simon. Lucy's disappearance. The rumoured baby.

Penny and I sit in shocked silence. I wait for her to say something-- Penny's _always_ saying something. But maybe I've finally shut her up.

Finally, she bursts. Predictably.

"I've got an idea," she says in a hoarse whisper. Snatching the photograph out of my hand, Penelope closes her eyes in concentration, holding her gaudy amethyst ring above the glossy surface.

" ** _A picture is worth a thousand words_** _!_ " The words come out drenched in magic. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I haven't been around Magic for _so_ long, let alone relatively _powerful_ magic. A lump catches in my throat and I think I might be sick.

And suddenly I'm not in Penny's room anymore. I mean, I _am._ Like, I can feel myself sitting on her floor, but I'm... _not_. Somehow. Instead of her weird grey wallpaper I see the inside of a small stone cottage, candlelight bouncing off the smooth stones. To my right, a man is hunched over a bed, his shoulders raised like he's crying. In the bed lies a woman holding a baby-- a woman with bright blonde hair and blue eyes and--

"Lucy!" I call out. Or, try to. No sound comes out. Instead, it's like I've pressed 'play' on a paused movie. Everything slowly flickers into motion.

"Lucy... Lucy we did it..." The man murmurs, and I'm positive he's crying now. His voice sends chills up my spine. It brings back memories of a dark hallway and the same man gripping my arms too tight and saying "you don't have much to give, but I'll take it"...

I feel myself go limp with fear. Of fucking course I have to come face to face with that bastard again... I'm with Penelope fucking Bunce, aren't I?

"Lucy... we brought The Greatest Mage..." The Mage whispers. (No. Not The Mage. _Davy._ )

A weak, chapped smile slips onto the woman's lips.

"He looks like you, Davy," the woman-- Lucy-- replies. A small smile tugs at one corner of the Mage's lips.

"What shall we call him? What's the proper name for Our Greatest Mage?"

Blue eyes stare into blue eyes for a moment. Lucy and Simon.

"Simon. Simon Snow."

The Mage laughs then, but it's a painful, broken thing. (I always thought everything he did was painful and broken).

" _Snow_? Why Snow?"

Lucy kisses the round, pink forehead of the baby in her arms. For a moment, the candlelight makes him look like he's glowing slightly (come to think of it, he's always sort of looked like that).

"Because... I like it. And because everyone needs a silly middle name--" She's cut off by a violent coughing fit. Her frail, pregnancy-fat padded belly crumples over and over in convulsions. I can't stand to watch, but the spell won't let me look away.

When she's done, her lips are stained red.

The room falls silent. The Mage stops smiling. Lucy's blue eyes drift halfway shut.

For several minutes, only the faint ticking of a clock breaks that horrible silence. But then Lucy's lips start to move. Then her hands, stroking the soft down of blond hair on baby Simon's head.

"Simon, Simon... my rosebud boy..." The words almost sound like a song. The Mage's shoulders start to shake, and he hides his face in his hands.

"I don't want to leave you, baby," Lucy continues, her voice growing fainter and fainter. More forced.

"My sweet, sweet boy... I need you--" Lucy coughs, cutting herself off again. "I need you to help your daddy for me... I need you to help him save the world. But-- but first... I want you to grow up. I want you to... to find yourself. To find love... To find... find your Magic. F-find your home. I love you, sweetheart..."

A little pink fist curls around a blonde curl that's come loose from Lucy's braid. As if Simon's saying he understands.

The Mage's hand reaches up to grip the dying woman's tightly.

"Lucy... Lucy please..." The Mage whispers desperately. I almost feel bad for him.

"I love you, Davy."

The scene fades, and I'm back in Penny's room. My arse sore from sitting on the hard ground. Tears clinging to my cheeks and jaw.

Quickly, I wipe them away. Penny can't see me crying.

"What _was_ that spell?" I ask. I can't decide if I'm angry or in awe. (Mostly I just miss California, where there was no Magic and everything was perfectly Normal).

Penny rubs her eyes, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

"It-- It's an old spell. It lets you hear the last thousand seconds of conversation the people in the photo had together."

"So Lucy's--"

"Dead."

The word hits me like a punch.

Lucy, the woman who got away, the woman who I have looked up to so much in the past few years, is _dead_.

And so is the Mage-- Simon _killed_ him (accidentally)(everything Simon Snow does is an accident).

Simon Snow-- the hero to all Magic and Magedom-- caused the deaths of _both_ of his parents.

Oh my _God_.


	21. If You Must Sleep.

**_Baz_ **

I am floating.

Floating on a soft, dark cloud, my mind turned to mush and my body a mere memory.

I could stay here forever, if I wanted. That's what the dark wisps of smoke that surround me whisper in my ears. Some vague memory of the pain and fear that would greet me if I open my eyes makes me want to float here in the dark forever, blissfully drifting along on a breeze that is neither warm nor cold.

But somewhere in the back of my mind is the barest whisper of a name.

_Simon_.

Golden skin, covered in moles and freckles. Spots on his warm body that I so love to kiss.

_Simon._

Unremarkably remarkable blue eyes. Eyes with the power to bring me to my knees. Eyes with the power to make me smile or cry or laugh or beg with the merest glance.

_Simon._

The boy who saved my life.

_Simon_.

The boy I love more than anything else in the world.

_Simon._

The boy who is the breath in my lungs and the supporting hand resting gently on my back and the beating of my heart and my every thought and feeling.

_Simon._

The boy who I need, like lungs need need air. The boy who needs me.

_Simon._

The boy I have to wake up for.

_Simon._

_My Simon._

 

 


	22. If You Must Falter.

**_Simon_ **

I pity everyone on the road with me right now.

I drive like a beast, speeding and darting between lanes. Following the little blue dot blinking steadily on my screen. An unrelenting rain slashes down from the roiling sky, turning every light into a blur, every turn into a surprise. Now that I think about it, I don't think it's stopped raining since Baz left. How fitting.

The drive to Swansea (or just outside of it, if my mobile is correct) usually takes about three hours, in optimal conditions. In the pouring rain, on roads that are only empty this early in the morning, I make it in one and a half (this is why Penny hates it when I drive).

Once I get to Swansea, I slow down. Just enough to be careful and not fuck up my directions. Keeping a wary eye on the little blue dot, I snake through the twisting roads. Watching. My muscles tensed and ready to go.

Hedges line the road I'm on, looking like gargoyles in the dark. Increasingly smaller dilapidated houses crouch on either side of me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Angrily, I floor the gas pedal, jerking the car forward in an effort to put this damned freaky place behind me. The hedges blur into one long dark row, growing steadily taller and taller and _taller_ until--

With a surprised yell, I slam my foot onto the brake, skidding to a screeching halt. Fishtailing wildly on the wet gravel. Breathing heavily, I look up.

In front of my car rises a huge, old-growth forest, growing right across the road. The dark trees sway ominously in the torrential rain.

The whole place doesn't feel entirely... natural. Normal. Like someone-- or some _thing_ \-- placed it there, just to block me.

I push out my jaw and square my shoulders, gripping my phone tightly in my hand. The softly glowing screen is oddly comforting; some small bit of normality in all of this. A promise that I can find him.

With a deep breath, I exit the car, pocketing the keys. Then I walk straight into the gaping maw of the forest.

\-------------------------

I lose track of time. Maybe I've been walking for days, maybe for minutes. It could easily be either.

The soft ground slopes gently upward beneath my feet, and I don't think it's ever going to stop. Maybe I'll just keep walking in here for eternity, forever following the trail of a small, glowing blue dot. Forever looking for Baz.

Every step is harder than the last. Like the air is actively attempting to weigh me down. To stop me from reaching my goal-- from reaching him. Gritting my teeth, I just push harder.

"You won't stop me, you bastard..." I mutter to no one. Maybe I'm going crazy.

As if the trees were listening (dryads?), the incline finally comes to an end, stopping in a sort of lip that overlooks a ravine, twenty feet below.

Black smoke swirls through the gully, twisting around the dark tree trunks. A soft, echoing whisper emits from it, forming incomprehensible words and phrases that don't quite reach my ears. They tug at me, beckoning me forward. I don't give in, instead flattening onto my stomach and peeking over the edge.

Dark trees. Darker smoke. Dead leaves. And there-- two pale figures leaning up against separate trees.

Fiona. _Baz._

I have to stop myself from crying out his name. Quickly, I rest my hand over my hip, muttering the incantation to summon the Sword of Mages.

I stop mid sentence, realising.

I don't have magic anymore. I'm completely and utterly helpless; stranded in the middle of the forest, pitted up against who knows what.

_Fuck._

 


	23. If You Must Answer.

**_Agatha_ **

Penny's trying to hide her worry-- I can see the shadow of it lurking in every crevice of her face. First Baz disappearing, then Simon, and now _this_. How can she _not_ be worried?

A fragment of an idea tickles the back of my brain. Like pieces of a puzzle, falling into place.

What if... 

What if this is all Baz's doing? What if he knew something about Simon's parents, and didn't want him to find out? 

It makes sense. With Baz and Simon disappearing within twenty-four hours of each other... What if Baz kidnapped Simon? What if Baz kidnapped Simon, and that's why Penelope, who is phased by _nothing_ , looks so worried. 

If Penny is too afraid to go after them.... then it's up to me. I have to save Simon. 

"Penny," I start to say, thinking maybe I can convince her to come with me. Those sad brown eyes turn on me, looking more desperate and broken than I've ever seen them. 

Before I can continue, a phone rings. Penny's hand shoots into her pocket, extracting hers and bringing it up to her ear. 

"Simon?" She asks frantically. I can't make out the reply. But I watch as all of the blood drains from her face. 

"I'll be right there. Send me your location?" 

A moment later, she hangs up, staring at me. 

"Was that Simon? What did he want? Where is he?" I ask, desperate to know if I'm right. 

Setting her jaw, Penny looks me straight in the eyes. Her gaze burns hotter than any fire. 

"We have to go. Right now."

 


	24. If You Must Fear.

**_Simon_ **

The wet ground starts to seep into my clothes as I wait. Silence, too complete for my liking, walks through the trees. Nothing moves. Nothing breathes. Nothing except me and the whispers of the dark smoke in the ravine make a sound.

It's terrifying.

_I'm_ terrified.

Cold fingers run up and down my back, setting my teeth on edge and sending a shudder through my body. I wish, more than anything, that I was down in that ravine, fighting whatever I need to fight and saving who I need to save. Lying here in the cold mud, I feel so completely and utterly _helpless._ A sitting duck.

And the longer I wait, the more terror settles into my bones. Every small sound makes me jump; every shift in the air making me wish I had my sword.

Something rustles in the trees not far off. I scramble to my feet, snatching up a downed tree branch by my feet and holding it tightly, ready to whack anyone who comes close (I know; I'm terrifying). The rustling draws steadily closer and closer until I can make out the vague outlines of two figures.

"Simon?" Calls out a familiar voice. I sigh in relief, relaxing my grip on my stick. It's Penny. Just Penny; not some Chimaeraabout to rip off my head. My Penny.

"Here," I croak out, surprised to find my voice hoarse. How long have I been waiting here? More importantly, how long have I kept _Baz_ waiting?

Penny emerges from the gathering fog, and a less welcome face follows close behind: Agatha. My stomach sinks. I really don't want to deal with her right now... But I suppose I'll need all the help I can get (although one ** _—_** AKA a certain Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch ** _—_** might say that that's _always_ true).

"Simon!" Agatha calls out, rushing towards me, "What's going on?"

Ignoring her, I turn to Penny.

"Penny. Baz and Fiona ** _—_** they're both down there. And I'm going after them."

 

 


	25. If You Must Break.

**_Agatha_ **

To my surprise, Penelope nods her head.

"Go. I'll cover your back."

I stare at them, slack-jawed. What the bleeding _fuck_ are they doing? This is so obviously a trap there might as well be signs tacked onto the trees saying, "Hey! Want to be attacked by a vampire and his bitch aunt? Inquire within!" What _is_ this, some kind of vampire mind control?! Why am I the only one thinking rationally here?

With a short nod, Simon turns to go, determination set on his face. But behind those blue eyes... behind those familiar blue eyes I see nothing but fear.

"Simon, stop!" I plead, grabbing tightly onto his arm. He whips around to face me, fire kindling on his features.

"Let go of me, Agatha" He barks. I stand my ground.

"You'll only get yourself killed if you go down there! Face it, Baz isn't worth it! I get it, you guys are friends now, but _he's not worth it_!"

Simon tries to rip his arm from my grasp, but I only hold on tighter. I will _not_ let him die for that fucking vampire. Never.

"He's not worth it? _He's not worth it?_ Aleister _fucking_ Crowley, Agatha, I'm _in love with him_ , and whether you like it or not, I'm going after him! Now let go of me!" Simon growls.

Shock courses through me. Simon... loves Baz? Not possible. They hated each other for _far_ too long for that to be even remotely plausible. I always thought that the whole 'vampires have mind control' thing wasn't true, but it's currently the only thing that makes _any_ sense whatsoever.

"You're not even _gay_ , Simon!" I shout at him, tightening my grip.

Something breaks on that golden face. Something dark and powerful and completely and utterly horrifying.

"Listen, Agatha," His voice is dangerously quiet and calm, "I may not be gay, but I am more in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-motherfucking-Pitch than I _ever_ was with you! Now for the last time, _**let. Go.** " _

The last two words come out drenched in magic, releasing a blast like a sonic boom. Before I can register what's happening, I'm flying through the air, surrounded by a golden light that pours off of Simon in thick waves.

Golden _magic_. Simon Snow has _magic._

And for the first time, it's not like he's taking it-- ripping it clean out of the Magickal Atmosphere-- it's like he's the _source_ of it.

Simon Snow has _magic._

And for the first time, it's _his._

 

 


	26. If You Must Stand.

 

**_Simon_ **

The world rushes by in a wild blur of colour and muffled noise, going fast even as I move slow. Heat and golden light radiate off of me in waves (in just two seconds flat, I've become a fucking tsunami). Something cold and solid rests in my hand— a sword hilt. _The_ sword hilt. I would know the weight and shape of the Sword of Mages anywhere. The cool, familiar metal feels strangely comforting in my hand. With every heavy, deliberate step towards the crest of the ravine, the Magickal cloud around me grows denser, solidifying alongside my determination to kick some major ass.

My mind switches to autopilot (something that has historically ended in destruction and chaos). I reach the crest of the hill, for a moment staring down at the smoke-filled gulley, and at the two pale figures slumped against trees.

Without thinking about what I'm doing, I leap off the side of the ravine. Instead of falling, though, I descend slowly, my feet settling onto the ground comfortably when I land. Like Peter fucking Pan.

Baz's limp body sags against a tree five metres away, his skin sallow and wan. All around him are bright crimson and rusty brown smudges and puddles of fresh and dried blood ** _—_** _his_ blood. And there's something wrong with his arm. And his (beautiful, perfect) nose.

My vision goes red when I see him like this; when I see what the dickhead that took him _did_ to him. The Sword starts to steam under my fingers, filling the air with the smell of molten metal.

"Baz!" My voice is strangely magnified and echoey, like I'm talking into an old-fashioned microphone. As I try to run to him, the smoke thickens, circling me in a black maelstrom. Frantically, I try to push through it, to slash it with my sword, to find my way blindly to Baz, but nothing happens. Even though I'm moving, I'm not _going_ anywhere. No matter how hard I dig my trainers into the mud, I don't move forward.

" ** _Show yourself, you bastard_**!" I shout, the magnified words coming out soaked in magic. " ** _Come out and fight_**!"

A laugh slithers through every particle of the smoke around me, sounding like a snake about to strike.

"Hello, Chosen One... I've been waiting for you for _ever_ so long..."

A growl rises from the back of my throat.

"What do you want from me?" I demand, looking in every direction. Trying to find _something_ I can kill.

"I only wanted to see if the rumours were true..." the smoke hisses back, "if the Chosen One truly does exist... if he truly did kill the Humdrum with his _magnificent_ power..." the word 'magnificent' drips with sarcasm and poorly-veiled reptilian laughter.

Before I can reply, a face materialises in the smoke: a hollow, paper-pale face, with black lips and perfectly round, completely black eyes. The effect is chilling, sending a shudder up my spine.

"So..." the dripping black jaws spread into a gruesome smile, "Hello, Chosen One."

I glare at the monstrous features.

"What are you? And if you wanted _me_ , explain why the bleeding _fuck_ you decided you needed to kidnap these people!"

"I am an Enenra, stupid boy... and... I needed them," the smile stretches impossibly wider, "to get to you."

Anger flashes through me like spark paper. Before I'm aware of what I'm doing, I'm bringing down my blade over and over again into the foul thing's head. Heat and light stream from my fingertips, peppering the white skin like shrapnel. An agonised, dying scream echoes between every smoke particle.

" **_You. Do. Not. Steal. My. Family. And. Live. You. Son. Of. A. Bitch_**!" I scream,letting my magic build and build with every word. The last word punches the Enenra with a force like a small bomb, and the thing explodes into black dust, blasting the leaves off all of the trees within a fifty- foot radius.

As if I'm a puppet whose strings have been cut, I drop to the ground, and the world goes black for just a moment. My ears ring with a high-pitched whine, muffling all other sound. Even my vision, once it returns, splits in two and is strangely wobbly and discoloured.

How the hell did that just work?

And, more importantly, how the hell did I do it?

 

 


	27. If You Must Crash.

**_Agatha_ **

I'm going to be sick.

I mean, I've never reacted well to Simon's magic, but this... he's turned into this... this superhuman _monster,_ with godlike power and I just... my magic _can't_ handle it. _I_ can't handle it.

Dear God, I'm going to be sick.


	28. If You Must Stun.

**_Penelope_ **

Something explodes in the distance, and I think it might be Simon.

Simon, who has his _magic_ back.

Simon, who has gone full-fucking god-power, emanating golden light and sonic blasts.

Simon's _back_. He's _more_ than back.

When he blasted Agatha off of him, I think I blacked out for a moment. When I opened my eyes a few seconds later, my head was resting on the soft, downy moss growing from the roots of a tree. I'm back on my feet now, but my legs shake like I've just run ten kilometres. My head spins like a top.

"Agatha?" I call out, trying to ignore the tipsily spinning world to look for her.

As if in answer, I stumble over something warm and soft-- Agatha's foot. She's on all fours, dry heaving into a bush.

"Agatha-- _Agatha!_ " Grabbing her by her shoulders, I shake her, trying to snap her out of it. "What _happened?_ Where did Simon go?"

Agatha looks sharply up at me, anger flickering behind those milky brown eyes.

"Why do you _care,_ Penelope? He just fucking threw me across half the fucking forest and you want to go _after_ him?"

I open my mouth to shout at her, but she's on a roll. I've never seen her like this before, in all the years I've known her. I guess everyone has their breaking point, even perfect Miss Agatha Wellbelove.

"And what's more," she rants, practically fuming at the ears, "What's all this about him being _gay_? Simon dated me for a _long_ time, Penelope, and I tell you there is not a gay bone in his body! It's got to be some kind of vampire nonsense and--"

I slap Agatha Wellbelove right across her perfect mouth.

I guess I've got a breaking point too.

" _Penelope_!" She shrieks, cradling her face.

"Don't you 'Penelope' me, Agatha! Simon and Baz-- they're my _family!_ They love me, and I love them, and you know what? I have _never_ seen two people more in love with each other than they are! And if you don't like that then fine, you can leave! But right now, you're either with us or against us, and given the fact that I've got two of the most powerful mages in the _entire world_ on my side, I highly suggest you choose to be _with_ us!"

That familiar crease forms between Agatha's eyebrows as she scowls at me (an odd expression on her typically placid face). Aleister Crowley, I can't wait for it to become a wrinkle, and to know that I helped make it.

"Fine. But I never want to see any of you... you _freaks_ again," she spits. I'm half tempted to slap her again for calling us freaks, but... who am I kidding? We kind of are.

"Believe me, that's _fine_. Now let's go find Simon."

Judging by the ever-brightening light pouring from the ravine, I don't think he'll be that hard to find.   
  


 

 


	29. If You Must Live.

**_Baz_ **

There are hands holding my cheeks. Hands so shockingly warm against the cold, cold miasma I've been floating in for so, so long that I gasp, opening my eyes.

Familiar blue eyes bore into mine. A muffled voice echoes in the background of all the chaos around me, slowly clearing until I realise someone's saying my name, over and over.

"Baz, Baz!"

" _Simon..."_ The word is a strangled sob, forcing its way from my lips.

He lets out a noise that's half laughter, half weeping. Warm red lips press against my face over and over again, kissing every bit of skin they can reach. _Simon_.

" _Baz,_ " he says my name again, and suddenly the pain of existing doesn't seem so bad anymore. Simon's here, and that means I'm safe, no matter how bad of shape I'm in.

Still, I can't keep my eyes open. Simon's image drifts in and out of focus, his voice occasionally growing muffled to the point that I can barely hear him. Those familiar lips are millimetres from my skin but I cease to feel the warmth of his breath. Darkness begins to creep in on the edges of my vision.

"Baz. _Baz._ Darling, please, _please_ ," Simon pleads.

Simon Snow called me Darling-- there was a time when I thought that would never happen.

"Darling, if--" his voice breaks, and he tries again, voice heavy with tears, "I'll tell you something. If you can... can stay awake for me, I'll marry you. As soon as you're all right again..."

I want to cry out 'yes!'. I want to wrap my arms around him and kiss every part of him I can reach. I want to press my lips into his over and over again, repeating my 'yes' between every stolen breath.

But my lips are so heavy. And words are so difficult.

_Stay awake, Baz,_ I scream at myself internally.

_You've finally got something to stay awake for._

 

 


	30. If You Must Push.

**_Simon_ **

Baz is straining to stay awake, his grey eyes dark and full of agony.

"Simon." Hearing him croak out my name again only breaks my heart even more than seeing him like this. His eyelids flutter, and with a visible effort he lifts them again. I hold his face, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks, being careful to avoid his twin black eyes and broken-looking nose. Feeling the warmth of his laboured breaths on my skin.

"Baz-- Baz, stay with me, darling. I need you to stay awake... _please..._ " Tears start to roll down my cheeks, evaporating in the heat still pouring out of me before they can drip from my chin.

"Simon..." he repeats, his mouth working like he wants to say more but the words won't come out.

And then his eyes roll up in his head, and his head lolls forward onto my chest.

" _Baz!_ " I'm screaming now, not caring who or what hears me.

Baz doesn't stir.

So I do what I've always done.

I let my magic rise to the surface. And then I _push_.

And then the world fades away.

 


	31. If You Must Cover.

**_Penelope_ **

I sprint towards the edge of the ravine, practically dragging Agatha behind me. A horrible, high-pitched tone builds with every step we take. The golden light issuing from the mouth of the ravine grows steadily brighter, accompanying the sharpening of the tone. Together, they crescendo until I am forced to drop to my knees, clamping my hands over my ears and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. I feel the impact on the ground beside me as Agatha does the same.

We're both screaming. Even though it's not doing any good, I can't _stop_. I feel warm, sticky blood trickle from my ears onto my palms. Even through my closed eyelids, I can still plainly see the veritable beacon shooting from Simon.

It's unbearable. And it continuously gets worse and worse and worse until I don't think I can go another second without passing out. Or being violently ill. Or both.

Just as I begin to feel my grip on consciousness slipping away, a massive explosion blasts through the forest. And all the heat and pressure and that awful noise are gone, just like that.

There are tears on my cheeks as I open my eyes, but I'm shocked to find that the blood is gone from my hands when I take them off of my ears. I receive an even larger shock when I look around us and the forest is completely gone. Vanished without a trace.

Agatha and I lay side by side in the middle of a rain-slicked road (though the sky above us is clear of clouds for the first time in several weeks). About ten feet away, I can just make out the familiar figure of Baz's aunt Fiona, her chest rising and falling slowly.

And there, suspended in a shimmering gold cloud two feet above the road, are Baz and Simon. They both appear to be unconscious, but Simon's got his arms wrapped tightly around his boyfriend. Ever so slowly, the cloud begins to descend, until it deposits them gently onto the pavement.

"Simon," I croak out, pushing myself into a more comfortable sitting position. Beside me, Agatha stirs, sitting up. Ignoring her, I call out Simon's name again.

"Here..." comes his hoarse, exhausted voice. Still holding Baz tightly against him, he makes no effort to get up.

"Is Baz awake?" I ask, trying to work up the strength to stand up.

"...Yes..." Baz's voice is a faint, agonised whimper.

"Baz? Snow? _Bunce_? What the fuck is going on here? Where am I?" Fiona grumbles, attempting to sit up, but dropping back onto the pavement with a groan and a quiet "fuck."

"Agatha? You alright?" I ask, turning to face the girl next to me. She only nods, her hair catching the moonlight and shining brightly. I think I see tears gleaming on her pretty face, but she turns away before I can see properly.

"Penny..." Simon coughs, sounding dead-tired, "Penny we need to get out of here... Baz and Fiona... They need help..." I think a sense a silent 'and me' tacked onto the end of that sentence. Simon's only awake because he's worried about Baz. And even then, he's fading fast. I hear it in his voice.

With shaking, fumbling fingers, I drag my mobile out from my pocket and punch in a phone number.

" _999, what's your emergency?_ " A woman's voice buzzes out of the receiver.

"I need an ambulance," I reply, pinching the bridge of my nose in a vain attempt to ward off my mounting headache, "Quickly."

 


	32. If You Must Whisper.

**_Simon_ **

I get sick in cars on good days. Today is _not_ a good day. And this isn't a car.

This is a loud, bright red ambulance that takes turns too wide and only has a window looking backwards. Even the bright white interior lights contribute to my mounting nausea. It gets so bad that the (admittedly very attractive) paramedic has to pump anti-nausea drugs into my IV. He gives me an annoyed look that plainly says, ' _seriously? Your "friend" is on death's door, and you need anti-nausea drugs? Wanker_ '. (Okay, maybe he doesn't look _quite_ that judgmental...)

Despite my escalating urge to vomit, I don't let go of Baz's hand. I think probably could have ridden in the car with Penny and Agatha, but I didn't want to leave him, and the paramedics wanted to keep an eye on me, just in case. Fiona's conked out on a second gurney a few feet away, and since there wasn't enough room for a third, I convinced the paramedics to let me sit on the bench, instead of calling a backup ambulance to bring me along.

My entire body aches; I'm more tired than I've been in a long, long time. But I manage to stay awake enough to hold onto Baz, occasionally murmuring comforting things to him. Though his eyes are at half-mast and dip closed every so often, he manages to stay awake as well, his gaze never leaving mine.

"I'm never letting go of you again," I whisper, rubbing my thumb in circles on the back of his chilled hand.

"Good." His voice is still no more than the barest breath of air. Sounding pained and drugged up, his words muffled through his oxygen mask, but beautifully, wonderfully _alive_. "Good."

 

 


	33. If You Must Drift.

**_Simon_ **

I stop talking for a little while, resting my head on the side of Baz's gurney, my face close to his. Not caring about the Velcro that tugs at my hair and scratches at my cheek; I'm too tired to care.

My fingers gently trace his hairline, then his cheekbones, then his jaw, finally coming to rest on the back of his neck, where I rub small, comforting circles. Warming the too-cold skin.

Tears start roll down Baz's cheeks from under his swollen eyelids.

"Hey..." I murmur, stroking his hair away from his face, "shh... I've got you, Baz. I've got you..."

"I can't stay awake, Simon." His voice is a small, petrified whisper, tongue slipping from all the pain meds they're pumping into him.

"That's okay, sweet... just sleep. I'm right here. Just sleep."

"Everything hurts," he croaks out. The paramedic, sitting a few feet away, pushes a small button on Baz's IV when he hears this. But the tight pain on Baz's face doesn't ease. Can Magickally-inflicted pain be eased by Normal drugs?

On impulse, I let the little magic I have left come to the surface. Placing my hand in his, I open myself up, giving it all to him.

He sighs a little, the pain on his face easing.

"Hey, Simon?" He murmurs, and though he no longer sounds agonised, the fear in his voice stays there. There's not much I can do to help that.

"Yes, darling?" I ask softly in reply (I don't know why I never called him 'darling' before now— I'm immensely enjoying it).

"We're here!" The paramedic announces, cutting off Baz's next words.

And then the ambulance doors open, and we're surrounded by a flood of bustling people.

 


	34. If You Must Promise.

**_Baz_ **

When I open my eyes, there's a Simon Snow on my bed. (Or I guess I could say there's Snow on my bed). (Pain meds make me punny).

His arms are wrapped around me, carefully weaved through all the tubes and wires sticking out of my body. Silvery moonlight from the window illuminates his perfect, sleeping face, turning his golden skin silver.

Both my arm and my nose are wrapped in layers upon layers of casts and padding and gauze and splints ** _—_** I guess I must have gone in for surgery while I was asleep (how long have I been out?). My head throbs dully, the headache resonating throughout my entire body. Even the cuts that were deep enough to warrant stitches ache. It's difficult to keep my still-swollen eyes open, but I fight against the leaden feeling.

"Simon?" I whisper. Simon stirs, opening his eyes. For a moment, I could swear they flash gold. But it must be a trick of the moonlight, because the colour's gone as soon as I blink.

"Hey... how are you feeling?" He asks, voice croaky and hoarse (it's just a _tiny_ bit sexy). Carefully, he pulls me closer, the gesture feeling almost protective. I nestle my head on his chest, letting my eyes drift shut. I feel his hand in my hair, stroking it back ever so gently.

Aleister Crowley, I'm in love with this boy.

"Sore. Tired," I whisper, my tongue heavy from drowsiness and pain meds.

"You scared me, Baz... for a while, I thought I was gonna lose you." Simon's breath is warm on the crown of my head. Tears well in my eyes at his words, and guilt shoots through me like an icy bullet.

"Simon... I'm so sorry... I should've listened to you. I shouldn't have gone out on my own... I was so fucking stupid..." my voice trails off. I can't bring myself to say more.

Simon's grip on me only tightens.

"No. Baz, none of this is your fault. You aren't _stupid,_ you're _brave_. You're a courageous fuck, remember? An absolute nightmare. There's nothing whatsoever to apologise for."

I manage a faint, tearful giggle that comes out sounding more like a whimper (there's something surreal about having my own encouraging words quoted back to me). However, my weak smile fades with my next thought.

"You're too nice to me, Simon Snow," my voice is softer than a breath of air, barely audible, "why... why aren't you mad at me?"

A pregnant, stunned silence fills the small room as Simon processes my words. Anxiety curdles in my stomach as I wait for his reply.

"Baz..." he finally whispers, "why would I ever be mad at you? _How_ could I ever be mad at you? All you've ever done is save the day. I'm not too nice to you, I'm in _love_ with you, Baz. You're brave, and you're powerful, and you're _so_ strong, and you're better looking than anyone has the right to be, and you're _mine_ , and I'm yours, and that's all that matters. So... no more apologising allowed."

It's my turn to be stunned speechless. For the life of me, I can't think of a good reply.

In the silent warmth of his arms, with tears still rolling down my cheeks (I can't fucking get them to _stop_ ), I think back through all I remember of this whole ordeal. Getting the call. Driving to Swansea. Interrogating that barkeep. The ramshackle houses. Opening the door, only to be knocked cold by some unseen force. Waking up in that clearing. The pain of my bones being broken. Drifting. And then Simon... Vague memories of golden magic and desperate pleas float to the surface of my mind. Flotsam on the sea.

"Did... did you mean what you said? In the forest?" I ask tentatively, almost afraid that his answer will be a big, fat _NO._

"Which part?" He sounds half-asleep. I almost don't answer.

"Simon Snow," there are tears in my eyes again and I don't know why. The next part comes out as the barest whisper. "Do you want to marry me?"

Simon's finger hooks gently under my chin, tipping my head until I'm looking into those perfect blue eyes. _Simon Snow, you're so beautiful..._

And then he kisses me. It's a kiss that's gentle and soft and simple, his lips warm and open against mine. It's a kiss that takes takes the edge off the chill I've felt since I was in that dammed clearing. It's a kiss that holds a promise.

"Very much," he murmurs against my open mouth. "I want to marry you very much, Basilton Grimm-Pitch."

 

 


	35. If You Must Stay.

**_Agatha_ **

Penelope makes me wait at the hospital until she can drive me back to their flat. I tried to convince her to let me just take her car (Baz's Jag is here, why can't she drive that?), but she wouldn't let me.

So here I am, sitting on an uncomfortable bench in a waiting room that smells like bleach and vanilla, waiting for someone I don't ever want to see again in my life. So. Much. Fun.

Penny sits next to me, typing away on her laptop. Occasionally picking up her phone to text Micah. Generally ignoring me. (I ignore her right back.)

They're keeping Simon for a few days, treating him for extreme dehydration and just plain exhaustion. Baz is going to have to stay for a couple weeks. He went in for surgery yesterday afternoon, and then again this morning.

"It's funny," the doctor told us, "it's like they both received massive electric shocks, but from different sources." (Three guesses as to what those sources may be).

Penelope's phone chimes, and she looks over at me. I don't make eye contact with her.

"Agatha, it's Simon. He wants to tell us something," she urges, more than a little unpleasant impatience in her voice. Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "fine", and follow her to Simon and Baz's adjoined rooms (it's just one long room with a curtain down the centre).

A smiling Simon Snow stands outside the door, one hand wrapped around his IV pole. Penny kisses his cheek and ruffles his already tousled hair. I'm careful to keep a minimum distance of ten feet away from him (I haven't forgotten how he threw me across that clearing like I weighed nothing).

"Alright, Si?" Penny asks. Simon beams at her.

"Better than alright," he practically giggles. I repress a snort of disdain. Penny raises a single, dark eyebrow.

"What's up?" She asks, sounding a little suspicious now. Simon blushes, smiling down at his feet.

"Back in... um... the ravine," he sneaks a quick glance at me before continuing, "I sort of told Baz that if he made it through all of this... I would marry him?"

My head snaps up and my stomach sinks through the floor. Simon did _what?_

"And... he just said yes." Simon's face is lit up with this golden, happy glow that sets my teeth on edge (it looks a little too similar to his newly-rediscovered magic for my comfort). Penny actually _squeals_ and grips his shoulders.

"Simon! Does that mean you two will _finally_ get your own flat and leave me in peace?" She teases. Simon nods, still grinning from ear to ear.

"It does. He's knocked out from all of his pain meds right now, so I'm going to go make sure he's comfortable. See you later?" He asks Penelope with a peck to her cheek. She nods.

"Yeah. I'm going to drive Agatha back to the flat and then to her parents' house, but I'll be back as soon as possible. Okay?"

"Okay. Agatha... it was good to see you again," he tells me, with a halfhearted smile.

I can tell he doesn't mean it. So I turn and make my way back to the waiting room. Not bothering to answer.

 

 


	36. If You Must Coalesce.

**_Baz_ **

After about a fortnight in hospital (Simon got to leave after three days, the lucky bastard), the doctors finally declare Fiona and I well enough to go home. I'm aching to sleep in my own (or Simon's) bed again; I've barely slept at all since arriving here. My father and Daphne visited a lot, which is all well and good, but on the occasions that they brought the kids along, rest was out of the question. So I caught catnaps when it was just Simon or Penny, and Simon gave me magickal energy-boosts when I really needed it. 

So, yes. I am _extremely_ ready to go home. 

A couple of nurses wheel Fiona and I out to the car, Simon watching the process like a hawk. I sneak glances at him the whole time, turning away quickly whenever he catches me looking. I feel eleven years old again; nothing more than a child with a massive crush on a boy with wild bronze curls and rosy cheeks and these big blue eyes that won't let me look away.

Simon Snow. The boy I'm going to _marry._ (I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm living a charmed life). I get a thrill every time I look at him; an electric shock deep in my stomach that heats my cheeks and sets my hair on end. _I'm going to marry Simon Snow_. I feel myself grinning just thinking about it.

"Shotgun!" Fiona calls out, intruding on my thoughts (rude). Raising an eyebrow, I place a hand on the car door, stopping her from getting in.

"Oh no you don't," I drawl, enjoying every syllable, "the front seat is for people who haven't been kidnapped by mad fucking shadow creatures." 

Fiona stares at me, mouth agape. I wink at her in return.

"Basil," she growls, grumpy as ever, "it kidnapped you, too! Besides, I'm older, so I win by order of seniority." She tries to push past me, but I don't let her. I can hear Simon laughing from inside the car (good to know I'm not the only one enjoying this). 

Leaning in close to Fiona, I let a deviant, shit-eating grin spread across my lips. 

"It kidnapped you first."

Quickly, before she can react, I open the door and swing inside, taking the seat. My aunt stares at me for a second, rage and amusement fighting for dominance on her freckled face. I suppress my own laughter, waiting for her reaction. 

"You little twat! I knew I should've gotten rid of you when I had the chance..." she finally grumbles, sliding into the backseat. "You're nothing but trouble, you are." 

Giggling, I look back at her over my shoulder. 

"That's what makes me so fun."

 

 


	37. If You Must Hold.

**_Baz_ **

Simon's bed feels inconceivably soft after weeks of sleeping (poorly) in a hospital bed. His arms are warm around me, reminding me that I'm safe. That I'm home.

He's asleep, his breath tickling the back of my neck (Simon is still a mouth breather). Drowsiness is tugging at me, too, and soon I won't be able to fight it off. For the moment, I force my heavy lids to remain open. Instruct my eyes to stay focused, just for a little while longer.

I'm staring, transfixed, at the shaft of moonlight drifting in from the window. Not because there's anything the matter with it. Just because it's _light_. Because I spent an eternity floating in a space so black no light could ever even _dream_ of escaping through. Because it's impossibly bright in a universe so dark. Because it's beautiful in its luminescence.

Maybe I'm also thinking of the way it shifts and dances on Simon's golden skin. How it weaves through his bronze curls. How it turns his bright lips a pale, soft pink. How it makes shadows under his eyelashes, making them look long and dark and full. How it lights him up, showing him in a way that only I get to see. How fucking beautiful he is.

One last smile quirks up the corners of my lips before drowsiness claims me as its own, and I drift into the blissful quiet of sleep.

 


	38. If You Must Reveal.

**_Penelope_ **

Baz has been home for nearly a week, and I think he's finally starting to feel his old self again. Some of his usual snark and sarcasm is back (oh, joy), and he even managed to sneer at me yesterday. He and Si have been inseparable since the moment they set foot in the flat. Baz sleeps in Simon's room, and fortunately for me they're behaving themselves (the walls of this flat aren't exactly thick). Though, I suppose I shouldn't worry about that. Simon and Baz almost always save the shenanigans for Baz's place.

I still haven't told Simon about his parents. About the Mage. About Lucy.

He's just... so _happy_. I don't have the heart to burst his bubble.

Besides, how will I break it to him? "Hey, Simon, Agatha accidentally discovered who your parents are, and turns out they're dead! Oh, and bonus points-- _you killed your father!_ "

Yeah. That wouldn't end well. So for the time being, I'll keep my mouth shut.

I sigh, sitting down at the kitchen table and resting my head on my arms. _Poor Simon_...

"Hiya, Penny!" Chirps an abnormally-chipper voice from behind me (speak of the Devil and he shall appear...). I hear footsteps and assume Baz just joined him. Quickly, I sit up straight, erasing the stress from my face as I turn to face them.

"Hey, Simon. Hey, Baz. What did you boys do today?" _I_ spent today visiting Agatha's mum and consoling her about Agatha's adamant determination never to return to England. Lucky me!

Baz slides into the chair next to me, wincing a little as he lowers himself down. Simon kisses the top of his head before moving to the counter to put the kettle on (electric kettles are my favourite thing).

"I took Baz down to Hyde park for a walk. We fed the ducks," Simon tells me, grabbing a few mugs. Baz grins at me.

"I had to stop Snow from taking one home. He tried to spell it invisible with that fucking godpower of his, but I saw him do it, thus foiling his evil plan to steal a duck. You know, Hyde is technically a royal park, so I'm pretty sure that's treason, you bastard!" Baz calls over his shoulder. Simon laughs and chucks a tea bag at him.

"Fuck off!"

I shake my head at the two of them, smiling.

"Crowley. You two need adult supervision-- did you storm any castles while you were out committing treason, Simon?" Simon fake pouts, handing Baz and I our tea and sitting down.

"You can't use The Princess Bride in your insults, Penny, it's not fair! Half the lines in that movie are insults!" He protests. I giggle, and Baz nearly spits out his mouthful of tea.

"'Life _is_ pain, Highness,'" I quote back to him with a shrug. Simon laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his nose scrunching up. I think Baz is going to fall out of his chair.

"'That's not very sportsman-like,'" Simon returns, determined to win this little quote-fight (he _won't_ ).

"'To the death!'" I declare, brandishing my teacup like a sword (we are _actual_ five year olds).

"'No, to the pain!"

I am seriously concerned that Basil is going to choke to death while laughing at us. Or piss himself. Whichever comes first. At the rate he's going, he might possibly do both.

"I don't think I'm quite familiar with that phrase,'" I'm using my best Humperdinck voice, but frankly, it's crap. Why do I have to be the villain? (Who am I kidding, it's loads more fun to be the villain).

Simon opens his mouth to reply, but Baz places a hand on his arm, still gasping from laughing so hard. There are actual tears of mirth flowing down his cheeks.

"Simon Snow," He chokes out, "I swear to god, if you recite all of Wesley's 'to the pain' speech, I am going to take Penny's 'you need parental supervision' comment _very_ seriously."

Simon Snow looks his boyfriend (fiancé) dead in the eye and whispers,

"As you wish."

We explode simultaneously into uncontrollable laughter. My sides begin to hurt, but I can't stop. I think Simon's stopped breathing. Baz clutches his stomach. The entire building rings with the sounds of our giggling-- I'm positive we'll get complaints from the neighbours later.

It goes on for nearly ten minutes, until all three of us are gasping for breath and holding our painful stomachs. Simon finally regains enough control over himself to sigh contentedly and say,

"Crowley, I'm so glad everything's well and good now."

All the mirth drains out of me.

I _have_ to tell him. If I don't do it now, I never will.

I drop my gaze ashamedly down at the tabletop. Steeling myself for the pain I'm about to cause him.

"Actually, Simon... I have something I need to show you."

Slowly, I pull the wrinkled photograph out of my pocket.

 

 


	39. If You Must Coruscate.

**_Simon_ **

The last image of my parents hangs in the air a moment before fading away in a shimmering curtain.

I feel as if I've been shot. All of the air rushes from my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. All of the mirth has left the room completely, leaving only dead, empty silence in its wake. ****

_I killed my parents._

I am paralysed.

_I killed my parents._

Baz and Penny stare at me like I'm a bomb about to go off. Maybe I am.

"Simon--" Penny starts, reaching for me.

I choose that moment to go a bit postal.

My stomach lurches, and I bolt up from my seat, rushing in the direction of the bathroom. I make it just in time to be violently sick in the toilet. Heaving until there's nothing left but bile that stings my chapped lips and burns my throat like whiskey. Once I've finished I wipe my mouth, breathing hard, and reach behind me to shut and latch the door.

_I killed my parents._

I splash cold water over my face (which does jack shit), and wash out my mouth. Trying to clear any remnant of the bitter taste. Over the rush of the tap, I hear a soft knock on the door.

"Simon?" It's Baz, this time, sounding scared and worried. Probably for good reason.

Crowley, I have to get out of this bathroom. The walls are closing in on me, pushing closer and closer. All the while murmuring, " _murderer... murderer..._ "

Baz's footsteps recede, and I hear him whispering to Penny. This is my chance. Hastily, I undo the lock, kicking the door open and bolting for the door that'll take me out of the flat.

_I killed my parents._

The next thing I know, I'm on the roof, sitting in the small covered viewpoint. I'm not sure how I got here, but the air shimmers with golden magic.

Usually, this place calms me down. Baz and I discovered it; nobody in the building knows about it but us and Penny. I like it up here. It's quiet. Away from all the people and the noise of London.

All of my energy is gone, leaving me broken and deflated. A popped balloon. There are tears on my cheeks, but I don't remember starting to cry. My entire body shakes, despite the abnormally warm night.

_I killed my parents._

I curl my knees up to my chest, wiping my eyes on my jeans. Then my head feels too heavy to lift, so I just stay like this, my eyes pressing into my knees. Letting myself feel the pain of it-- pain I deserve. Letting myself cry.

I don't know how long I stay like this. It feels like eternity.

After a long while, I hear someone climb up next to me. I recognise Baz's familiar bergamot and cedar smell, but I don't lift my head or acknowledge him in any way. I haven't got the strength.

Baz walks around me, and for a moment I think he's going to ignore me, too, and just walk right past me. Instead, he sits down once he's gotten to my other side, his arm brushing against mine. I realise that he walked round to this side so that his arm that isn't in a cast is facing me. Typical, considerate Baz. _My gentleman_.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't make a move to hold me or touch me in any way (I don't think I want him to-- it's not like I have any right to be comforted).

"I killed my parents, Baz..." I whisper into my knees, breaking the silence. Baz doesn't say anything, so I just keep on taking. "My whole life, I've tried to _save_ people, to _help_ people, and really... I killed my own parents."

Baz nudges my arm with his.

"Simon. Look at me," his voice is low and soft and sweet, and I hate him for it. Why is he being so nice? Why is he okay with this? I don't raise my head.

" _Simon_ ," Baz repeats, more insistent now. His hand settles on my shoulder. Gentle. Loving.

With a shuddering sigh, I turn my head, keeping it rested on my knees. Those pretty grey eyes are staring at me, full to bursting with worry. His hand comes up from my shoulder to brush my hair out of my eyes.

"Simon. You didn't kill your parents, love." Aleister Crowley I love the sound of his voice. Deep and rich and dulcet.

I let loose a small snort of disbelief.

"Baz. You were _there_ when I... killed the Ma-- my dad," my voice cracks a bit on the word 'dad', "and my mum... it's my fault she died. You saw her, Baz. She couldn't handle my magic-- I _broke_ her."

Baz cups my face in his hands, a little crease forming between those dark eyebrows.

"You didn't _break_ her, Simon. She _loved_ you-- she would be so, so proud of you. Remember what she said; all the things she wanted you to do. You've _done_ them, Simon. And as for the Mage... there is a big difference," his eyes bore into mine, captivating me, forcing me to listen, "between family and blood. That man was no father to you; he was a neglectful, emotionally abusive twat, and he wasn't your family. You've _got_ family, Simon. You've got me, and Penny, and Miss Possibelf, and Ebb, and _so_ many others, and we all love you so very much, Simon Snow. No matter what."

I'm crying harder than ever now, my body wracked with sobs. Baz pulls me against him, and I bury my face into his chest, holding onto him tightly.

"My whole life," I whimper into his shirt, "what have I ever done to deserve you, Baz?"

Baz kisses the top of my head, cradling me like a child.

"Everything," he whispers, "Everything you've ever done."

We stay like this, holding onto each other for dear life, for a long time. The sobs finally recede, until all that's left of them are the tears on my cheeks and the occasional hiccough. Baz's hands stroke my hair, his fingers tangling in the curls. It feels so _good_.

"Do you ever think we'll find peace? Do... do you think we've earned it?" I ask softly. Baz's hand stills in my hair, and he pulls back enough to look down into my face.

"Simon, listen," he kisses the tip of my nose. Then my cheeks. Then my chin. "All that we are are two boys who have faced life and death and everything in between together. All that we are are two boys in love. And I think... I think that things are going to be okay from now on. All we have to do is carry on."

He kisses me then, a whispery, sweet kiss that feels like the start of something new.

A smile slips onto my lips after he pulls away, his forehead resting against mine. Because I believe him. I think that, for the first time in a long time, we're gonna be okay. We just have to do as Baz said; we just have to carry on.

 

**_End of book 1._ **

 

 


End file.
